Mice Will Play
by Agent.Q.003
Summary: Once Catwoman gets her claws into Amelia, she finds herself thrust into the middle of a war between the Justice League and the Light. And for some reason, the more Dick tries to help her, the more she fights back. OC. Sequel to Curiosity and the Cat. Happens during 5 year break.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello lovely readers! This is a sequel to Curiosity and the Cat, so if you haven't read that before you may be a little confused. Also, as I said in the C&C: My timeline is off. I made Dick a bit older to make him easier to work with. In fact, he even gets a couple of his own POV chapters in this part, and he'll be seeing even more in part 3!

* * *

Amelia took a long look at the half-full glass of red wine. She swirled it slowly, watching the red color stick to the crystal. She smelled it. She sipped it slowly, savored the taste, and ultimately decided to hell with it all, grabbed the entire bottle from the counter, and flopped down on the couch. She eyed the way her muddy shoes stained the white fabric with a small frown. Oh well, she'd get it cleaned. Hell, she'd save herself the trouble and buy a new damn couch.

She turned on the television and flipped through the channels, making the mistake of pausing on a news broadcast. Her heart sank into her stomach and she stared at the screen without really paying much attention. It'd been months, but the sentencing of Charles VanAlstyne was still the talk of the town. Stock had plummeted. Their business suffered, but it would rebound with time. It was their family name that was tarnished for good. Amelia had to suppress the shame and embarrassment she felt every time she signed her own name.

Maybe it was lucky everything was over for now. Charles would be held in a luxurious room in Arkham, where he couldn't bother anyone else, and he would stay there for good. She would hopefully never have to see or hear from him again. Unless more evidence turned up, which for all she knew was very likely. There were still missing bodies out there, somewhere.

But, until that happened, she liked to think that she would never have to see, hear, or think about him ever again.

Her face appeared on the screen. She didn't need to watch to know what would happen, as the event they were televising happened only a few hours ago. She turned off the television and ran her fingers ruefully through the thick glob of mud in her hair.

Last night they had one of those big, summer storms with lots of lightning and rain that sounded like stampeding elephants. She'd managed to get herself up before noon for the first time since graduation to get dressed and look at least halfway presentable for the press, who would undoubtedly show up at the courthouse.

After everything was settled and decided with the judge, Amelia had tried to escape without being interviewed, but it hadn't worked as well as she had hoped. She'd been swarmed completely upon exit, and everyone was asking question upon question at the same time until all their words melted together to sound like mindless chattering.

It was funny, how only in a matter of months she'd gone from a nameless face in a magazine spread to a common household celebrity.

The crowed had started jeering loudly. Everyone took a step back and the police started dispersing, but they couldn't contain them before someone had managed to pelt her completely with mud. She remembered the loud _smack _it made against her cheek, and the awful smell. The fresh fertilizer scent clung in her nostrils. And the grimey, gritty feeling under her fingernails as she tried to rake it off.

She hadn't had time to gather her thoughts before someone had their hands on her and pushed her roughly through the crowd. She almost lost a shoe as they dragged her into the alley and then through the back entrance of a nearby restaurant so swiftly that no one had been able to follow.

When she was shoved down into a chair was the first time she had the opportunity to gather her surroundings. She had mud all down her back and in her hair. Above her, with such a furious expression on his face it made _her _afraid, was standing none other than James Moretti. His fists clenched and unclenched, a tic formed in his clenched jaw, and she knew that if anyone were to set him on edge even a little he probably wouldn't hesitate to beat them to a bloody pulp.

The old Italian cook standing behind James looked like he didn't know what to do with the sudden intrusion. "Um, excuse me, sir? You're not supposed—" he stopped abruptly when James gave him a look so cold it could freeze hell.

"Get me a wet towel," he ordered.

The man produced a towel within seconds and James turned back to Amelia, suddenly all charismatic smiles. "You're looking pretty rough, VanAlstyne."

He reached forward to wipe her cheek. She quickly slapped his hand away and snatched the towel from him, doing it herself. "Don't touch me, you're probably diseased. I think I'd rather deal with the mud. And honestly, you can do all you want to convince me otherwise, but I still think you're an ass."

He winced dramatically and placed a hand over his heart. "That hurts, it really does. And here I thought frigid bitch was just an ironic nickname."

Amelia rolled her eyes and pulled her phone out of her purse to call Charfield. "You and I both know very well that you're the one who started calling me that in the first place. And for future reference, if you want to get on a girl's good side, insulting them is not the way to do it."

"In my defense, I tried being nice the first time. It didn't work."

"You and I clearly have different definitions of 'nice'."

He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it up. "I don't know about you, but I think I'm a saint."

The old cook shot him a glare. "Excuse me, sir—" he was interrupted again by another of James' cold stares.

Amelia frowned and stole the cigarette right out from between his lips, stormed outside, and crushed it under her heel on the sidewalk where she stood and waited for the car.

"Hey!" he complained and chased after her. "What was that for?"

She ignored him.

"I did save you, you know. I'm a regular hero. You should be thanking me."

She didn't respond. Heroes were still a sore subject as far as she was concerned.

He frowned. "You know, I haven't seen you around in months. At all. No one has."

"So, what, are you following me now?"

"That's not my point. Did you get my messages?"

"Yeah, they made pretty good kindling."

"Amelia?"

"What?"

"Come to my sister's art show with me tomorrow night."

She gave him a glare. "Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Well, if I ask, I know you won't say yes. So yeah, I guess I'm telling you." He gave her another charismatic smile that had probably won over dozens of girls before her and ran his fingers through his sandy blonde hair in a way that was probably meant to make her swoon.

"You are _so _full of yourself it's disgusting!"

"Please?"

"No!"

"Please?"

"Forget about it!" Charfield _finally _pulled up at the curb, his face full of both concern and confusion. She rushed toward the car, but James ran in front of her and pressed himself up against the door so she couldn't get in.

"Amelia VanAlstyne," he begged breathlessly, "please do me the honor of coming to my sister's art show with me. If you do, I promise I'll stop bothering you forever."

It took all her power to keep her from hitting him. She raised an eyebrow. "Forever?"

"You heard me."

"Well, then you've got yourself a deal, Mr. Moretti. Now get the hell away from my car."

* * *

Amelia sighed and mulled over her current predicament, putting the bottle up to her lips only to find that she had finished it without realizing. Her mouth had a strong, sweet taste in it and her head spun.

A hand appeared and took the bottle from her grasp, placing it back onto the countertop beside the half-full glass she had abandoned earlier. "Ignoring the fact that you still have four years until you're of-age," Charfield scolded, "you really shouldn't be drinking."

"What are you," she scoffed, "my therapist? Besides, it's a Tuesday. Tuesdays are hard."

"It's two in the afternoon."

"It's five o'clock somewhere. We can fly there if you would prefer. Just let me shower first because I'm currently covered in shit."

He rolled his eyes. He used to complain about her drinking, but at some point he must have decided that he wasn't about to entertain Amelia's antics. "You're not going anywhere. Just sit there and sober up where no one can see you."

"You sound like my grandmother." Amelia wrinkled her nose in distaste and imitated her grandmother's high-pitched, lofty tone, "Stay inside, Amelia. Don't let anyone see you, Amelia. Avoid the cameras, Amelia. Do try to stay out of trouble, Amelia, we don't want a repeat performance, do we? Oh Amelia, why do you always cause me such _headaches _you're positively _incorrigible_."

At this rate, the only sunlight she'd seen in months was on the way in and out of her therapist's office.

Charfield stared at her in thought for a moment, not really sure what to say. "That last one was pretty accurate," he eventually observed. "Though you really ought to get out more and hang out with your friends."

Amelia returned his suggestion with a doubtful stare. "_Pfft, _like I havefriends."

"But you _should _go out, regardless."

Ignoring the fact that he no longer fought her declaration of having no friends, she sat up in her seat and informed him matter-of-factly, "Actually, I am going out. Tomorrow night."

He frowned. "With who?"

"James Moretti."

He rolled his eyes again. "Seriously, Amelia, you really need to get out."

"I _am_ being serious. He was pretty insistent about me going to his sister's art show with him tomorrow night."

"And you _agreed_?"

"He said he'd stop harassing me. I figure one night of hell is worth a lifetime of peace, am I right? Besides, I want to see what he's up to. I'm curious."

"I don't like it."

"I never asked you to like it."

"I don't think you should go."

"And that's why I didn't ask you."

Charfield let out a low groan. "I'm going to get some rest," he snapped and walked in the direction of his room. "I have a migraine."

"Well," she retorted to his retreating form, "_you're _giving me a premature hangover."

* * *

Amelia sat down on the lounge, folded her hands on her stomach, and stared at the ceiling for approximately five minutes.

"So, you're not in a very talkative mood today, Miss VanAlstyne?"

"You ask that every week."

"Well, it seems to be true every week."

Amelia sat up and took a long look at the middle-aged woman sitting across from her. "And every week I tell you again and again, I'm _fine_. I don't need a shrink. You're boring."

"Can you tell me what you mean by 'fine'?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, "I'm just fine. There's nothing wrong with me."

"So you consider yourself to be physically 'fine'?"

She raised an eyebrow and scoffed. "Look at me, I'm more than _fine_."

"So you're sleeping at night?"

No. The nightmares would wake her up screaming and wake Charfield, which ended up in him coddling her like an invalid. Eventually she just started staying awake until her body shut down and fell into a sleep so deep she didn't dream. Alcohol helped, too. "Like a baby."

"And you're happy with yourself?"

"Thrilled."

"Thoughts of suicide? Are you drinking?"

"Nope. Dry as a whistle." She had woken up in the morning still drunk from the night before and the terrible hangover was starting to settle in between her temples.

"How do you feel about yourself? Has anything changed since last week?"

"I still think pretty highly of myself, if that's what you're asking. That's not going to change."

"How's Charfield doing?"

"Good."

"Does he like the new apartment?"

"He likes that he doesn't have to clean up after himself, so yeah I guess."

"Do you like it there?"

"It's cool. I like having my own apartment."

Dr. Carter sat forward in her seat like a cat just about to pounce on a mouse. Amelia wasn't sure if she should be worried or excited because if she got decent information out of Amelia she might let her go early. "Do you? Why do you think that is?"

"I don't have to put up with other people's shit."

"What do you mean, put up with other people?"

"Put up with their _shit_," Amelia corrected. "Everything I do is dictated by these assholes in PR who want me to pretend to be this weak little pathetic wimp when I go out in public. They think it'll help the company, my family's image, if I just play victim. But you'd think Charfield would know better than to fall for it like everybody else. I can take care of myself. I don't need them to do it for me."

"So you want people to stop treating you like a victim?"

"Are you just going to repeat everything I say in question form?" she snapped. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

"Have you told them that?"

"Yes, but the last shrink told them not to believe me. He was a dick. He told everyone I was a manipulative pathological liar with PTSD and a muted emotional response. I got him fired."

"How?"

Amelia raised her eyebrows. "I'm not about to tell _you_." She glanced down at her watch and sprung up. "Look at that! Time's up. Bye."

She actually had ten minutes to go, but before Dr. Carter had an opportunity to say otherwise she had fled from the room and down the front steps to where Charfield had parked and was waiting for her.

Before she could get even half way to the parking lot, a short woman with a small notebook in hand appeared from nowhere out in front of her. Amelia jumped. "Amelia VanAlstyne," she said breathlessly. Had she been running? Hiding in the bushes? Reporters had been getting more and more creative. If Amelia's head wasn't aching, she'd be impressed.

"How are you dealing with the news?"

Amelia didn't know what the woman was talking about, nor did she feel like granting _any _sort of attention to yet another reporter. She had a splitting headache and the only thing she wanted to have a heart-to-heart with was a bottle of advil and her bed.

"Miss, please," the woman chased after her as a car pulled up and a pile of people with cameras flooded out, reminiscent of the clown cars she had seen at the circus when she was younger. "How are you feeling?"

What was this, the therapist's office?

Just as she was being surrounded by people chirping their questions Charfield appeared by her side and helped her push her way through. They were afraid of him, as they should be. He was giving them a glare so dangerous it made _her _feel uncomfortable. "Don't listen to them," he bent down to mutter in her ear as he roughly shoved away one particularly pushy photographer. He blocked her from their gaze with his body as he ushered her toward the car.

"How does it feel to be heir to the fortune? The last one left?"

Whatwere these people talking about? She whirled around, ducked under Charfield's arm, and grabbed the shorter man who had just spoken by the front of his shirt. He looked intimidated and swallowed nervously. "What are you talking about?"

"You haven't heard?"

"Heard about _what_?"

Charfield tugged at her arm and tried to break her attention, but she swatted him away without breaking her eye contact with the man.

"Your g-g-g-grandmother," he stuttered, suddenly shaking, no doubt in response to the look Charfield was probably giving him from over her shoulder. "She j—" a fist came out of nowhere and he was on the ground, Charfield looming over his now bloody form.

"You should all leave," he seethed as he shoved Amelia roughly into the back seat of the car. "_Now_!" He shut the door after him and started the car.

Amelia leapt forward and grabbed the headrest of the passenger's side seat. "Are you crazy?! You just knocked that guy out!"

His expression softened only slightly. He looked sad. "Have you checked your phone? I've been trying to call you."

"No. You know I can't check my phone when I'm with the shrink." She pulled the thing out of her pocket to find she had dozens of missed calls, texts, and voicemails from numerous people, some of them numbers she didn't even have saved to her contacts list. "What's going on?"

Charfield took a deep breath. "Your grandmother's gone," he said, his voice low.

"What do you mean, 'gone'?"

"She died. Early this morning."

That's stupid. Her grandmother was in perfect health. "How?"

"Amelia, I really don't—"

"Charfield, I'm not stupid and you don't need to shelter me," she snapped. "Now tell me the truth."

"She jumped from VanAlstyne Towers."

"Oh."

It was quiet for a while until he pulled into the parking garage. "Are you alright?" he asked tentatively.

"Don't be stupid. Of course I'm alright. I'm fine." She pushed the call button on the elevator and fumed in silence. Charfield placed a hand at the base of her neck and ran his thumb back and forth along her hairline. She folded her arms across her chest but didn't object.

"Do you want me to come up?" he asked as the elevator doors opened. This afternoon was supposed to be his time off.

"No," she shrugged. "I'm just going to go to bed. I'm tired."

"Are you sure?"

"Goodbye, Charfield." Amelia rolled her eyes as she pressed the door close button.

The first thing Amelia noticed upon entering the apartment was that all the lights were on. Amelia made sure never to leave the lights on when she left.

"Hello, Amelia," a familiar female voice called out.

Amelia jumped as her gaze darted over to the woman sitting in the chair. She was significantly tanner than Amelia remembered her being, but the light blonde hair and piercing blue eyes of Jane VanAlstyne were unmistakable. "Mom?" she frowned. This was the first time Amelia had seen her mother since she had left for India—she hadn't even bothered to visit her when she'd been in the hospital. Instead, she'd sent her a post card from some beach Amelia couldn't pronounce and a wilted bouquet of flowers. "What are you doing here?"

"Amelia, darling," her mother repeated, "we have to talk."

Amelia's stomach sank. This didn't sound promising.

* * *

A/N cont'd: as always, these aren't very heavily edited, so if you see any mistakes or want me to elaborate on anything more leave a comment and I'll be happy to.


	2. Chapter 2

"So," Amelia asked slowly, "what's so important? You came all the way from India just to visit little 'ole me?"

"California, actually. I've been there for a month or so."

Well, that was news. "And?"

"And I'm not particularly fond of the current situation."

Amelia couldn't keep her eyes from rolling. "Yeah, if my mother jumped off a skyscraper it would put a bit of a damper on my day, too."

"_Amelia_!" Jane looked disgusted for a moment, but then continued, "That's not exactly what I was referring to. What I was talking about was simply the will. See, there's a problem—she left everything to you."

Amelia had begun to suspect as much, but she really didn't see what that had to do with her mother, who couldn't care less about the business. In fact, she hated it. Jane left home as a teenager, gotten herself knocked up shortly after, and never came back to Gotham until this moment. "So?"

"So I need you to change that."

"Why?"

"Because I owe a lot of money, Amelia, and I _deserve _it."

"So you're trying to convince me to hand you over a company because you suck with finances? All due to the fact that you have some convoluted notion that it's _owed _to you? You must think I'm an idiot." Amelia snorted and flopped down onto the couch. Her patience with her mother had left long before she arrived here. She'd had plenty of time to stew in the hospital and during her grueling physical therapy sessions over the woman's selfishness and had definitively decided that she wanted absolutely nothing to do with her.

Jane's face turned red. "I deserve that money. You don't know what I had to go through living with that man. He's a monster."

Amelia remembered Jane calling her something similar, right before she jetted off to India without so much as a goodbye.

"What did he do, coddle you to death?"

"Don't belittle me, you know exactly what he's done!"

Amelia was confused for just a moment before everything clicked and she shot straight up out of her chair in fury. "You knew!" she shouted. "You knew he was a murderer the whole time and you _still _sent me to live with him so you could get high in India! He murdered people and you did nothing!"

"He wouldn't have hurt you," Jane scoffed.

"He _shot_ me!"

"Because you don't know how to mind your own business! You would have been fine otherwise. Don't be a child. I lived with the man for years."

"Shooting a seventeen-year-old is _not _okay on this or any other planet, just like sending a seventeen-year-old to go live with a serial killer is not okay. I think I'm allowed to be upset!"

"Don't you lecture me!" Jane stood up and towered over Amelia. "I'm your mother and you will give me the respect I deserve!"

"You don't deserve any!"

Jane put her hand to her temple. "Alright, Amelia. I'll give you some time to think about this because I'm obviously not getting through to you. But think, in all honestly, do you even have the knowledge to take care of this company you want so much? Do you _honestly _think you're capable of handling this, with everything that's happened? That's a lot of power for a little girl."

She was right. Amelia hated it when she was right. "No…" she shrugged. "But Charfield does. He's a genius."

Jane frowned. "You need to stay away from that boy," she hissed. "I'm serious. He's no good."

"Really? He's done a better job at keeping me alive than you ever have."

"Please listen to me, for once in your life, he's _not _good for you."

"You need to leave." Amelia pointed toward the door. "The next time you think of stopping by, do yourself a favor and don't."

On her way out, Jane paused in front of Amelia for a moment. She caressed the side of Amelia's face softly. "I worry about you. You have so much of him in you."

* * *

It was only a short ride across the city, but Amelia was still late when she arrived at the venue. James was outside smoking a cigarette, waiting for her.

"Finally," he said as he approached her. He tried to place his arm around her waist to usher her into the building, but she slapped his hand away and crossed her arms over her chest. Without missing a beat, he forced his arm through the crook in her elbow and led her inside. "It's so stuffy in there. It's all art snobs and old people."

Amelia pushed him away. "I can walk on my own. And don't forget, I'm only here so you'll stop harassing me."

"Taking your anger out on your object of affection is so elementary. It's not my fault you're attracted to me." He swiped a glass of champagne off of a tray and handed it to her. "And please try to loosen up. I don't want people to think my date has a stick up her ass—it's not good for my image. I have a reputation to uphold."

She was beginning to doubt her resolve. "_You're _the one who begged me to come with you!"

"Victoria!" he ignored her and ushered over a blonde woman who was standing with her husband chatting with another group. "Victoria, this is my friend Amelia. Amelia, this is my sister Victoria."

Amelia hadn't even had an opportunity to look at the art yet considering the fact that she'd been so involved with thinking up ways to tell James off. Honestly, she didn't know why he had wanted her to come, and she was beginning to doubt her own sanity for actually agreeing to it. "It's nice to meet you, Victoria. Your work is lovely."

They exchanged pleasantries and made small talk for a few minutes while James stared at the ceiling impatiently. Eventually Victoria left to go mingle with the rest of her friends and family and they were left alone again, slowly making their way around from painting to painting.

"Why did you want me to come here with you if you're only going to annoy me the whole night? Or was that the point? One last hurrah?" she demanded in a hushed voice.

"Because," he stated simply, "I always get what I want."

Was that it? This was all about stroking his ego? She rolled her eyes. "Well, that's never going to happen. Though I have to say, using your family to try to trick me into thinking you're not a complete ass was a good move. If I had the IQ of a doornail, it might have worked. Are you sure they're not actors?"

"You, my dear, are not nearly as smart as you think you are."

"How sure are you about that? Because I think I'm pretty damn clever."

"So I've gathered." He called over a waitress serving some sort of dessert and offered one to her. "Fruit tart?"

"I think I can do without," Amelia said without really paying much attention. At this point she was finally able to get a good look at some of the paintings, some of which were incredible. James fell silent beside her for so long that it took her a while to realize he had disappeared.

Well, at least she wouldn't have to deal with _him _anymore.

"You're really weird." Victoria's voice beside her made Amelia jump. "Not in a bad way, but… how can I put this without sounding like a bitch? You're not my brother's type."

"We're not dating," Amelia corrected. Would everyone assume they were dating? Everyone here was probably wondering what _he_ was doing out with a basket case. As far as they were concerned, he deserved better than her.

It dawned on her that James might be using her to improve his own image. After all, he was being _so _good to her in her time of need. It just so happened that there was always a few photographers around every time he decided to grow a conscience.

Victoria snorted. "James doesn't date. He doesn't actually let us meet anyone, either. I usually just get updates on his life from bloggers."

"Actually, James and I aren't friends. I don't even like him."

Victoria took that better than Amelia had thought she would. She actually laughed. "Then why are you here?"

"He's been bothering me lately and said he'd stop for good if I came with him. So here I am."

After a moment of consideration, Victoria nodded. "That sounds like him. He's a stubborn ass if you get under his skin enough. When I was little I used to steal his toys, and he would hold his breath until he passed out and Dad made me give them back. You must have really pissed him off. Speaking of which," her voice dropped as she looked somewhere over Amelia's shoulder, "he really doesn't like that I'm talking to you right now."

Amelia glanced over discretely. James was in deep conversation with his father and looked as superficially charming as ever. "How can you tell?"

"He keeps glancing over here and I'm pretty sure he's downed about two glasses of wine in the past five minutes we've been talking."

"Is there any reason he should be nervous?"

"I don't think so."

"Victoria," James suddenly materialized by her side and interrupted, "do you mind if I borrow Amelia for a moment?"

Without waiting for a reply, James tugged Amelia's arm and led her out to the side of the building with him, where no one was around. It wasn't the most beautiful of sights and it only served to remind her that Gotham wasn't exactly the most beautiful of cities.

"Hey!" Amelia yanked herself away. "I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own. I don't understand why the hell I came here in the first place if you're just going to ditch me."

He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply a few times, leaning back against the brick wall before replying. "I don't think this is working out," he said.

"What do you mean 'not working out'? This was your idea."

"I know. It was a badidea."

She frowned. "Are you trying to tell me to leave?"

He took another drag on the cigarette. "I'm not saying you _have _to go."

"Are you kidding me? You almost got hit with a car while trying to force me to come and now you're kicking me out?"

"Don't talk to me like that," he snarled angrily. "You're toxic. I don't want you around my family."

"You think I give a damn about your family?" Amelia laughed bitterly, even though her instincts were telling her she probably should have backed down a while ago. "You're crazy. So what? Your sister talked to me. I don't see what the big deal is."

"It's a big deal to me. People end up dead around you. I don't want you near her."

Amelia's breath caught in her throat, but she quickly shoved down all the things she wanted to say to him. Even a few glasses of champagne into the night, she knew she would only regret it later. "You've got a few screws loose. Seriously, I'll give you my therapist's number. You need it."

"You don't even want to be here, so why don't you just go?"

Amelia threw her hands up in the air and stomped down the alleyway toward the street where she could go call her driver. "Fine!"

"Fine! See you never!"

She whirled around to scream back at him, "Great, looking forward to it!"

"Me too, sweetheart!"

"Get a shrink!"

"I won't need one once _you're_ gone!" he pointed at her accusingly.

She was about to yell some retort, something stupid she couldn't even remember, when tires squealed behind her. James' eyes went wide and he started to run toward her, but that was the last thing she saw. Someone shoved a sack over her head. They pulled her backward into a vehicle and shut the door. She could hear James' muffled screaming from the other side, but it all happened too quickly for her to breathe a word.

The tires squealed again as the vehicle started and she slid and hit the far wall with a hard, painful thud. Someone grabbed her and tied her hands and feet together, but then she was alone in the back of the truck, sliding from wall to wall every time they made a sharp turn. Everything was quiet except for her own rapid breathing and an 80's radio station playing softly in the front of the vehicle.

It took her a few moments to realize what had actually happened.

She was tied up in the back of a van with a sack over her head. She didn't know where she was or who she was with. The only thing she knew for certain was that they probably weren't girl scouts trying a new marketing technique.

Her hands shook and she forced herself against the far corner. Her heart raced and she tried to breathe but felt like no matter what she did she couldn't get enough oxygen. Again. It was happening again, except this time she didn't have any weapon to protect herself with.

"What do you want from me?" she asked with as loud and steady a voice she could muster.

"We don't want you, kid," one man started.

"—shut up," another interrupted him in hushed tones as the car swerved again. "Are you an idiot?"

Not the one they wanted? So they didn't actually care about her? Then why was she in the back of the van? Who or what _did _they want? If they didn't want her, they may let her go when this was over. On the other hand, not being an asset just made her that much more expendable. Expendable wasn't good. Her head spun. What would kidnapping her prove? There was no one to pay ransom. She didn't have any friends or family besides Charfield who were crazy enough to try to find her, and the only people who would have any issues with him were probably sitting in financial aid offices somewhere in Connecticut.

"Are you sure you have the right person? I'm under the impression that you usually kidnap the billionaire's friend so that way there's someone to sign the check, but I could be wrong. You guys are the professionals."

No one answered.

"Honestly guys, the closest thing I have to a friend is that asshole back there. You don't want me."

"Will you shut her up?" the woman hissed.

The man sighed. Amelia could hear him moving around and the sound of ripping fabric. Within moments the sack came flying off of her head and was replaced with both a gag and a blindfold. The fabric tasted like the mixture of her sweat and perfume.

The man's face had looked vaguely familiar, as well. She had seen him before, once. She couldn't place it. He was middle aged and smelled like cigarettes.

Saliva filled her mouth and she found herself craving pastries. Maybe she _did_ need a shrink. Swallowing was made harder by the fact that there was a giant rag in her mouth. She better get rescued by the time she was covered in drool.

There was a large, metallic thud on the top of the van and the vehicle squealed to a stop. There was scuffling and a few shouts, and within a few moments she was lifted and sat down on the dirt outside the van.

First, they took off her gag. "You know if you had untied me I could have walked myself out, right? You really ought to think these things through."

With a laugh, her rescuer finally took off her blindfold.

And before her was none other than the Boy Wonder himself, a blonde girl and ginger boy beside him. They were all in complete costume.

"Did we pass Comic-con on the way here?"

"I see you haven't lost your sense of humor," Dick remarked as he cut her arms and legs free with a knife.

"And you haven't lost the tacky tights. Who's this?" she asked, motioning toward the blonde girl, "The Leprechaun and her Irish sidekick?"

"We're _not _sidekicks—"

Dick ignored his ginger friend as if the outburst didn't even phase him. "Are you alright? Are you hurt? How do you feel?"

"I'm fine," Amelia insisted as she swatted away his hands, which were probing her wrists and ankles for injury. "I have a headache. Nothing a few pills can't fix."

He nodded. "Well, then this is Artemis," he said, pointing to the girl, "and this is Kid Flash."

"You can ignore him," Artemis informed, glancing over at Kid Flash while rolling her eyes, "we try to."

"For the record, I'd just like to point out that _I _was the one who got us here—"

"I'm going to go check out the van," Dick interrupted the boy and motioned toward the vehicle, which was a short ways across the street. "You stay here with Amelia," he ordered Artemis, then turned to Kid Flash, "and you keep an eye on those two." He motioned toward the man and woman bound and gagged a few feet away from her. Amelia hadn't even noticed them. They were quiet, barely putting up a struggle.

Amelia frowned. "Hey," she called, "does this mean you've been following me?"

"That depends on what you mean by follow," Dick called back. "I prefer to call it 'keeping tabs'."

"Didn't I tell you to stop 'keeping tabs'?"

"You may have mentioned it once or twice."

"So when I say 'I need some space' essentially you hear 'how about you just stalk me and as long as I don't notice it's fine."

"Stalking is such a harsh term."

It took all of Amelia's willpower to not march over there and hit him.

"Besides," he continued, "you're safe, right? Isn't that all that matters?"

"No."

"Are you always this difficult? Or is just with people who actually care about you?"

"We're not friends," Amelia argued. And she really didn't like having this conversation in front of his weird friends in masks. "I told you that."

Dick poked his head out of the driver's seat window as he fiddled with some electronics in his lap. "That doesn't mean I don't care."

Amelia was about to argue further when she faltered. "Wait—" she was missing something right in front of her. Something she'd forgotten in her panic and adrenaline. When she remembered, her heart leapt into her throat and she suppressed a scream. "Get out of the car, it's a trap!"

"What?"

Too late.

There was a deafening roar. Everything was hot, the type of heat that scorched her lungs, and Artemis' body was heavy on top of her.

"_Dick_!" she let out a strangled cry, but it was totally inaudible. In fact, she could barely hear anything. Not even the fire or the explosions. It was like her head had been shoved under hot water. She stood up wobbly and tried to get to him, but Artemis' body blocked her. She yelled something at Amelia, but Amelia couldn't hear it or read her lips.

This was her fault. She should have realized sooner that it was a trap. No, she shouldn't have let them take her in the first place. She should have been able to stop them. She was so _stupid._ None of this was Dick's responsibility, he shouldn't even have to be here.

Stupid Amelia, letting everyone she'd ever cared about get hurt. Again.

She had to get to him. She grabbed Artemis' ponytail and yanked it down in one quick jerk, catching her off guard and knocking her off balance. A sharp kick to the back of the heels was enough to send her toppling over.

Amelia rushed into the smoke, but it burned her eyes. She couldn't see for anything. Where was he?

There. A few meters off, she spotted a black mass with legs. She ran toward him and dropped to her knees, shaking him gently. "Dick? Are you alright?"

She couldn't hear anything, and she was sure he wasn't capable of hearing either. He unwrapped himself from his cape. "Fireproof," he mouthed in explanation. He had a gash on his forehead and was covered in soot, but besides that he looked relatively unharmed.

Relief washed over her. She thought of so many things to say: "Thank god you're okay," "I'm sorry," "you scared me," but she didn't have the energy to say any of them. Instead, she threw her arms around him.

A siren sounded not far off and there was a hand on her shoulder. Kid Flash broke her attention. "We have to get out of here," he explained and helped Dick up. "Are you alright?"

Amelia nodded, and glanced over to Artemis, who was rubbing her scalp with a grimace.

"If you ever try anything like that again," she called to Dick as she watched them go, "I'll kill you myself."


	3. Chapter 3

This had become a daily routine. For the past week and a half, Amelia would sit at her desk for hours on end, sliding the small slip of paper back and forth between her fingers across the surface of the dark, polished wood. The clock in the corner clicked loudly and the apartment hummed around her.

Charfield appeared at the door. "Hey," he started, "I was thinking… what's that?"

"Nothing," Amelia answered as she quickly shoved the wrinkled piece of paper back into her wallet. His sudden appearance probably shouldn't have startled her as much as it did, as he'd taken to checking up on her every half an hour like he was afraid she'd disappear. She tucked her hair behind her ear and shrugged. "So, you were thinking? That's news. Tell me more. Did it hurt?"

"Well," he looked troubled and hesitated for a moment before sitting down on an armchair in the corner, "I was thinking—"

"So I've heard."

He shot her a warning glare. "I know in the past everyone was encouraging you to tough it out here because we thought it would help, but… I don't see any reason for you to stay in Gotham anymore. Actually, I think a change of scenery would be good for you."

Amelia frowned. After all the speeches everyone had given her in the past about it being good for her to get out and make friends, after all the time Charfield himself had told her he was glad she was being forced to stay here because it would do her good to not get everything that she wanted for a change, after all that and more, now _he _was suggesting she leave? "It's a good thing I don't pay you to think."

"Amelia," he shifted in his seat. "You're… depressed. You don't hang out with anyone anymore, you don't even go outside. Everyone from school has been calling you for the past week to make sure you're okay and you've been completely ignoring them."

"And you think totally uprooting me would make that better?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. Anything's better than watching you sit here and read all day."

Amelia rolled her eyes and crossed her legs up on top of the desk. What surprised her most was her own unwillingness to move. She wantedto stay. "I _like _reading. I like being alone. I'm not sick, Charfield, I'm an introvert. If you hadn't been so busy trying to socialize me these past months you'd know that. Besides, I don't always read. Sometimes I watch television. I like it here. I'm staying."

His eyebrows skyrocketed. "You hate it here. You've been begging to go since day one."

"Well I'm not about to quit and run away now. I'm staying."

"Fine," he threw up his arms in surrender, "you do what you want. But just promise me that if you need help… or anything… that you'll, uh..."

"If I plan on practicing my swan dive off the ledge of the nearest skyscraper I'll call you, okay? You can go now."

He was about to scold her, but her therapist had probably told him something about her poor coping mechanisms. Truthfully, Amelia wasn't sure if she was just depressed or if she really _was _as emotionally stunted as Dr. Carter thought she was.

Once she was alone again, she slapped the slip of paper back onto the countertop and held her phone loosely between her fingers. She wasn't about to leave Gotham. She wasn't one to run from her problems, at least, not anymore.

She hated that everyone felt the need to protect her. Even now, Charfield was trying to shelter her by relocating her somewhere new. And Dick, who had risked his life to help her before, had just almost died trying to do so again. Every time she replayed the scene in her head, her heart sank a little more. At the time she really had been certain that he'd died. Everyone she cared about had a nasty habit of almost getting killed at her expense. She'd been relying on anyone but herself for how long now? It was her first instinct to say the past few months, but really, it was probably her entire life. She'd never had the opportunity to live on her own terms, or maybe she'd never taken the initiative to.

Most of all, she was sick as hell of simply _surviving._ It wasn't enough. Amelia wasn't just a survivor, she wanted much more than that. After everything, was it too much to ask for just one day where she didn't feel suffocated by everyone around her? Every morning she woke up miserable, but no one ever took her seriously when she told them. No one _actually _felt sorry for her, because after all, what excuse did she have for being unhappy? Didn't money buy happiness? Her grandfather was a serial killer, her grandmother had committed suicide, she'd almost died, and all anyone ever seemed to care about was what shoes she was wearing or how fashionable her dress was.

She dialed the phone number.

The phone rang for the longest time. Every ring sent Amelia's heart deeper into her stomach. What would happen if she didn't answer? What if it was all fake? What would she do then?

Eventually an angry, female voice answered, "Do you even _know _what time it is? Can you _read_?"

Amelia frowned. "You're the one who told me to call."

There was a sudden intake of breath and the woman's voice returned to the low, dangerous purr Amelia was more accustomed to. "I'd just about given up on you."

"Don't act so excited, how do you know I'm not turning you in to the police?"

Amelia could hear the smile in her voice. "I have my ways, sweetheart. So, you rang?"

"You remember your offer from last winter?"

"How can I forget? It's not often a girl like me gets turned down."

"I'm in."

There was a brief moment of silence before the woman asked slowly, "In for what, exactly?"

She wanted it too much to feel embarrassed for asking. "I want you to teach me," she insisted. "Teach me how to stop being… weak."

Catwoman laughed. "Honey, I can't do that."

"What do you mean you _can't_? That's exactly what you said you _could _do."

"I mean no one can. You're never not going to be weak."

Amelia didn't like the direction this was going in. She crossed her arms across her chest and frowned. "I didn't call you for Confucian wisdom, I called you to help me. So are you up to the job or not?"

"I'm not someone you can just _hire _sweetheart, and I never said I could stop you from being weak," she snapped, the annoyance in her voice was apparent. "What I _can _do, though, is help you make up for those weak spots. Toughen you up a bit… for a price."

"What's in it for you?"

"Didn't your mommy ever teach you that if you're good at something, never do it for free?" She paused for a moment. "No, I suppose not."

Amelia definitely didn't like the direction this was going in. She stood and shut the door before asking, "So, how much are we talking?"

"I don't want your money, darling." The woman's voice turned very business-like, "I need your skills. Or at least the skills you'll have once I teach them to you. Moretti's boy, he likes you."

"So?"

"I happen to have an interest in his father's business."

"Why?" James Moretti dealt more with drugs and arms than anything. Sure, he was dangerous, but he wasn't known for any particularly expensive jewels or anything of the sort Catwoman was known for stealing. His men had gotten a few good bullets into a couple members of the Justice League, but never Catwoman herself.

"It's personal," Catwoman explained. "If you have access to the son you'll have access to his father. Besides, little James is bound to start walking in his daddy's footsteps sooner than later. I'd love to get my claws in him before he gets _too _mean."

The image of James in deep conversation with his father during the art show crept into her thoughts. Could it have really been business they'd been talking about? "It won't work, James doesn't let girls near his family." Amelia rolled her eyes as she remembered his outburst after the art show. "He's crazy, anyway. Can't you just force what you want out of someone?"

"No. I need long-term access. Moretti's not going away any time soon and I want a constant eye on him."

"Impossible." Not to mention miserable. Having to regularly spend time with that boy would be hell. There was something wrong with him. He was insane.

"Not if you force your way in. Make yourself special, use your womanly wiles. Think of it as lesson number one."

Amelia blanched. "What are you saying?"

"Call me when you've got it done. Until then, don't waste my time."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Show me how much you want it, sweetheart," she purred before abruptly hanging up the phone.

* * *

"Amelia?"

He was so pleased with himself, she could tell by his tone. Like a cat with a mouse between its paws. "James."

"Why are you calling? I had thought we'd agreed you wouldn't do that anymore."

"No," Amelia corrected, "we agreed that _you _wouldn't call anymore. Which…" she bit her lip and hated herself for what she was about to say next, "is sort of what I wanted to talk about."

"Yes?" The smile in his voice was apparent.

She stared up at the ceiling, praying for the willpower to maintain at the minimum a civil tone while in reality all the wanted to do was reach through the phone and wring his neck. "I was just, well, wondering…"

"Cough it up, VanAlstyne."

There was no way she could swallow the words before they spat out. "Why are you such an ass? At first I could have dealt with it, but then you turned into a crazy stalker and that I just can't ignore."

The other end was quiet for a moment, then, "Youinsulted me first, just to set the record straight."

"Yeah, but only after you were a jerk to everyone else, and therefore worthy of insulting."

"You don't even like any of the people I insulted in the first place! You hate them all too! You were just looking for excuses to hate me from day one. Are you stupid?"

"Am I _stupid_?" Amelia groaned and her finger hovered over the end button. No. She couldn't hang up now. "Listen, I just want to know what your deal is. Why me? Why would you constantly call me and beg me to go with you to the art show if I'm the bitch you say I am? Why help me outside the courthouse?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because I'm not a jerk, okay?" He let out a long sigh. "I'm not. I didn't do a very good job of showing it, but I'm not an asshole and I'm not crazy."

"Didn't do a very good job of showing it? You freaked out when your sister had a simple conversation with me and made a huge ass of yourself."

"I watched that guy shove a fucking bag over your head and lock you in the back of a van. You wouldn't have even been out there if it wasn't for me. I felt terrible, okay? I'm sorry. The only reason I invited you in the first place was so that I could show you how wrong you were about me because you alwaysthink you're right about everything. It's infuriating. You're the most self-absorbed person I've ever met."

Amelia gaped and clutched the corner of the desk tightly in her hand. The point drilled into her palm. "Let's get one thing straight, Moretti, I do _not _always think I'm right. You're so wrong." And how was it even fair for him to call _her _self-absorbed when he probably couldn't even tear himself away from a mirror!

"See?! See, that's what I'm talking about! Out of everything, _that's _the thing you pick up on?" He was laughing at her_. _Amelia's jaw clenched and all she wanted to do was scream. "You really are a piece of fucking work."

_Show me how much you want it._

Boy, Catwoman was going to owe her after this one.

"Go out with me."

"_What_?!"

Amelia held her breath for a moment to collect her thoughts, then continued. "You had an opportunity to try to prove me wrong, why don't you extend the same courtesy?"

"Fine."

"You know that club down the street from Wayne Enterprises?"

"Yeah?"

"Meet me there Saturday night at eleven."

"Fine."

"_Fine._"

* * *

Amelia's body had never hurt more in her life. And that was saying something, considering she'd been shot before.

"Again," Catwoman ordered from above her. "Now."

Amelia had always prided herself on her physical ability. She could run, she was flexible, and strong. But _this_, this was more than she was capable of. She couldn't even stand. She pushed herself, wobbling, up onto her hands and knees and looked at the clock.

Two hours.

It'd only been two hours and she was already reduced to crawling.

Catwoman put her foot up on Amelia's back and stepped down hard enough to cause her to fall again. Her cheek slammed against the floor. If she wasn't bruised tomorrow, she'd be red.

"Ow," Amelia groaned and took the opportunity to just savor the feeling of her body lying on the cold ground. "You're not playing fair."

"You think everyone else will? Come on, you're a helpless little girl, do you really think the guy coming at you with a gun will play fair?" Catwoman laughed and shrugged her shoulders. "Besides, I let you put down mats. It could be worse."

"Yeah," Amelia muttered, her cheek pressed against the floor. "You're so kind. A real saint if I ever saw one."

"Come on, princess." Catwoman hoisted Amelia up by the back of her shirt and tossed her against the wall with ease. "You're not a cripple yet."

"That's subject to debate."

"If you have energy to complain," Catwoman said as she swept Amelia's feet out from under her and kicked her over onto some gym equipment, sending weights toppling over onto the ground, "you have energy to work with."

"You don't know _anything _about anatomy, do you?" Amelia pushed herself back onto her feet for the umpteenth time that afternoon. "Just because I can talk it doesn't mean I'm ready to run a marathon. Contrary to what you may think, my jaw isn't in any way related to my legs."

"Are you so sure?" Catwoman sent Amelia falling to the ground again after forcing her to dodge a few sudden punches. "Because it seems like every time you open your mouth, you completely lose your footing. Use your head for thinking, sweetheart, not talking." She sighed and tossed Amelia a towel and a water bottle. "Here, kid. I think you've done enough for the day."

"Really?" Amelia asked, eyeing the woman's hand before tentatively taking the water. Amelia had learned not to trust her after she'd tossed her over her shoulder after Amelia had tried to shake her hand.

"No, I'm just tired of hearing you bitch and moan."

"Are you sure?" Amelia tried to get up, but her legs shook beneath her and she collapsed again. "I can keep going."

"Seriously, sit. You'll regret it tomorrow if you don't." Catwoman sat across from her, a more serious air about her. "Make sure to get lots of water, and stretch out before you go to bed tonight. It'll hurt, but honestly it'll be worse if you don't."

Amelia nodded. She didn't quite believe that this was happening still. Why was she doing this? It was crazy. Here, across from her, in her gym, was _the _Catwoman. The notorious thief. She should be turning her in, if she had any sort of lawful inclinations.

It struck Amelia at first about how normal she was. She was dressed plainly, like a woman going to the gym, with her hair down in a long, dark braid. The only thing strange about her was her mask, much like Dick's, that she had insisted she would wear until Amelia gave her more of a reason to trust her.

"Is this ever going to not be weird?" she asked, "Like, the whole masked criminal thing still gets me. It doesn't feel real."

"Probably, eventually, if you last that long." Catwoman shrugged. "Besides, we're both criminals. I just happen to be better at it and do it with more frequency."

"As you are always so quick to remind me."

"With reason. A big ego'll get someone like you killed pretty quick."

"Or, you know, any self-esteem whatsoever." Amelia took a moment to chug down the whole bottle of water and wipe the sweat away from her face. "Why do you seem to think I'm going to get myself killed, anyway? All I'm doing is learning how to defend myself and getting information for you about Moretti. It doesn't seem like such a big deal to me."

"Moretti's dangerous. Don't underestimate him." There was no purr or sass to her voice, just business. Her fingers brushed a couple scars along her arm. Remnants of a time when Catwoman was the one underestimating, Amelia guessed. "And I'm teaching you to fight with the hopes that you won't need to use it, but with the expectation that you will. Do you want to be underprepared? Because you could just take a karate class down the street. It would take a lot less effort."

"No." Amelia fidgeted with the empty bottle in her hands. "Do you really think Moretti would hurt me?"

"Absolutely," Catwoman answered quickly, not even batting an eyelash. "The boy, too, probably, if he caught on. The Morettis have done a number on a few people I really care about, a couple of them more defenseless than you. I think it's time they get a taste of their own medicine."

Amelia swallowed. Did she want to get involved in this? This was starting to resemble gang violence she'd only read about or seen in movies. She'd already had enough guns pointed at her for one lifetime, and she _really _didn't want to get shot again. "You sound almost like Robin."

"Bat's boy?" Catwoman rolled her eyes and laughed. "Yeah, I suppose. Except if I'm going to do justice, I do it for a price. Once I feel like Moretti's suffered enough for what he's done, I'm going to rob him blind, and I'm not going to give a rat's ass about whether it was wrong or right. In fact, I know I'll enjoy it very much."

"You're not going to get him arrested?"

"What's the point? He'd never _stay _in jail_. _I'd rather let him wallow in his filth. Let him think about what he's done from the bottom of the totem pole with the rest of us."

"You don't feel bad because it's illegal?"

"Honestly?" Catwoman shook her head. "No. Just because something's illegal it doesn't make it wrong, and just because something's legal doesn't make it right. There are plenty of people out there, most of them with boatloads of money, who deserve to be in prison but aren't because they're above the law. Your grandfather, for example. Do you really think he'd have the biggest room in Arkham if he wasn't wiping his ass with Benjamins? No, he'd probably be in Belle Reve waiting to get a needle in his arm."

Amelia cringed. She glanced at the clock. "I should probably get going," she explained. "I have to mentally prepare myself to seduce the biggest jackass known to mankind."

Catwoman laughed. "You'll remember why you're doing it when you can barely stand in the morning. The pain'll be a great reminder."

"Yeah, and not a very good one. Are you sure this is a good idea? I'm not very charming. I think my wiles were either broken or nonfunctional upon birth."

"You'll do great, kid. Knock him dead."

Amelia turned around to joke about taking that literally, but Catwoman was gone. She'd disappeared entirely. "Damn," she mused to herself, "I want to learn how to do that."


	4. Chapter 4

An immediate frown appeared on James' face as soon as Amelia came into view. She'd purposefully worn a dress very similar to the navy one he had sent her before the art show, but with a few alterations to make it a little more tasteful. She wasn't about to walk out _totally _naked, just enough to catch him off guard.

"I need a drink," he commented dryly after giving her a brief one-over, then headed straight toward the bar. Amelia tried unsuccessfully to match his long strides. At this rate she might need one herself just to put up with him. _Or five_.

At the last second, she rushed in front of him and got the bartender's attention. "Hey, I'd like a…" she paused for a moment as James appeared beside her. He looked so content with himself. He wore a snide little grin on his face as he blinked at her infuriatingly, waiting for her to finish ordering her drink. Even the way he _blinked _made her want to chuck something at his head. "On second thought, I'll have two shots of tequila please."

"Aw, how sweet of you to order for me."

"I'll have you know that both of these are for me," she said, knocking one back as soon as the bartender slid it in front of her. The liquid burned down her throat and the only thing that kept her from sputtering was her pride. Her nose burned. She had grown accustomed to the taste of alcohol, but she'd only ever drink something of such a high proof when the occasion called for it, and tonight the occasion definitely called for it. "I wouldn't dare to assume what sort of drinks you like, Mr. Moretti. I don't know everything, contrary to popular belief. Besides, I'm sure a gentleman like you should have no problem picking up the tab."

James opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but held back and ordered his drink. She didn't entirely mind James when he was silent like this, she thought to herself, it was only when he spoke that she wanted to throw things at his head. Of course, that was the last thing she remembered thinking that night before blacking out entirely.

* * *

The sunlight hit Amelia's eyes at just the right angle to force her awake, but she wasn't willing to move. The memory foam mattress sucked her deep into its depths and made her never want to move another inch in her entire life. The sheets were soft, warm, and she was perfectly content to stay there.

Then she came to the sudden realization that she wasn't wearing any clothes. She immediately shot up in bed and whirled around. She had no idea where she was. She'd never been in this room before. In fact, she was pretty sure that she'd never even been to this house before. Her dress was slung over the back of an armchair in the corner, and on the seat was a pair of men's sweat pants and a t-shirt. Her mind raced, her thoughts moving at a mile a minute trying desperately trying to remember things she was probably better off not knowing.

She was half way through hastily pulling the shirt over her head when James walked in, sporting sunglasses and carrying a bottle of water. "Good morning, doll. It's about time you put some clothes on."

A mixture of dread and anger boiled in her stomach and if her jaw wasn't already predisposed on the floor she probably would have voiced aloud what her brain was screaming: _no_. No no no no no. Before she knew it she had punched him so hard in the jaw that he dropped everything. "Hey!" he shouted, fighting to grab hold of her hands before she got them around the nearest lamp. "Will you relax?!"

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't bash your skull in."

"That's an awfully rude thing to say to the one who carried your drunk, puking ass all the way home last night."

Amelia froze. "You mean… we didn't…?"

"Have sex?" James laughed as he shoved her roughly off of him. "No." He reached over and grabbed the bottle, which had rolled under the bed. "Here, I thought you might need this."

Her mouth was dry. She _was _really thirsty. She snatched it from him and sipped cautiously. "So… is this your house?"

James frowned. "Yes," he answered shortly. "It was closest, and you were pretty sick."

After a few more sips of water, Amelia realized her head was pounding. Her face burned. She owed James Moretti yet again for doing something decent. That didn't mean she had changed her mind about him, though. "Feel like telling me what happened?"

"You puked a lot and took your clothes off. I had your dress dry cleaned while you were sleeping."

She took her clothes off? That was something. She didn't remember any of it.

"Don't be embarrassed, it's only because you were, and I quote, 'sweating like a whore in church.'" When Amelia couldn't help casting a cold glare at his terribly amused expression he shrugged. "You're the one who said it."

She rolled her eyes and looked around for her phone, which James quickly produced from his pocket. "You looking for this?" he asked smugly. He was enjoying this too much. She needed to stop it. He was getting on her last nerve.

She grabbed that, too, out of his hands. "Have anything else of mine, while you're at it?"

"Besides your dignity, no."

"Don't think for one second that you've had any effect on my dignity, Moretti." She checked the time on her phone and her stomach dropped. It was _two thirty. _She was supposed to meet Catwoman for training at _ten_. Her entire body froze for a moment. Catwoman would kill her. Just yesterday afternoon she'd given Amelia a long lecture about dedication. Could anything else go wrong?

"I turned off your alarm," James explained. "Have you really not slept in like, four days?"

Amelia was screwed. She scrambled everything together and called for a cab. She didn't even want to know how James seemed to know so much about her poor sleep schedule. He was right, of course, but that was beside the point. "_That's _none of your business." She made her way out of the bedroom and followed her way down the hall, trying to find the nearest exit.

James tailed her, his expression quickly growing darker. "What's your problem? All I did was try to help you."

"I don't need your help."

"Yeah, well that's not what it sounded last night when you gave yourself alcohol poisoning_._"

"I would have been fine without your help."

"No," he insisted, "you would have wound up passed out in the middle of the street surrounded by reporters. I kept you out of the tabloids, which from where I'm standing sounds like a pretty decent thing to do. It wouldn't kill you to sound at least a little grateful."

Once she got outside, Amelia whirled around to face him. "Why are you trying to make yourself sound like a saint? Because you're not."

"I never said I was!" He groaned and took a long look up at the sky, like he was asking the heavens for divine help. "Listen, are you okay? No one's heard from you in months and now you're drinking entire bottles of tequila by yourself. And with your grandmother and everything—"

"It's been two weeks," she interrupted. "I'm fine."

"Exactly," he stressed, "It's been _two weeks_."

Amelia frowned. "Don't act like you suddenly give a shit, Moretti. I know you better."

"No, I really don't think you do."

"I think I do."

"I think you think you do, but I don't think you do."

Amelia knew she was being ridiculous, but she was too proud to let it go. Coming across as a brat was much more favorable than admitting to him that she was wrong. "How about we agree to disagree, shall we?"

"How about we agree that you've booked a one way ticket on the crazy train and leave it at that?"

"I'm _not _crazy." She sighed and glanced down at her phone. She was surprised Catwoman hadn't called her when she was late. She hadn't made any effort to contact Amelia at all, actually. It was one thing to be thankful for. It was bad enough that James had possession of her phone in the first place, she didn't even want to think about all the questions he'd ask if she'd gotten numerous threatening text messages from a contact named _Cat._

Amelia was in huge trouble. After talks and talks of all the hard work and dedication it would take to merely be mediocre, she missed a lesson because she had passed out on the other side of town.

She gritted her teeth. She might as well make the most of the situation so that she had _something_ good to say to Catwoman when she had to grovel and beg her to stay. She had to have something to prove she wasn't a completely useless screw up.

"Listen, I have a lot going on right now," she admitted with a grimace. "I know I'm wrong, I just really didn't want to give you the satisfaction of knowing you're right, okay? And you didn't have to help me, so that was actually really nice… so thanks, I guess. But don't get used to it."

James' jaw dropped and his eyes went as wide as saucers. "Wow," he choked. "You sound pained. Did that hurt? Will you survive?" He looked around dramatically and felt her forehead with the back of her hand. "Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

Amelia rolled her eyes and swatted his hand away. "You're not very funny, you know that?"

"I don't think you know what you're talking about. I'm hilarious."

"I'm quite certain you're not." Amelia almost died of happiness when the taxi pulled up in the driveway. She probably could have, _should _have, called Charfield. It would be more proper. However, the idea of having him lecture her the entire way home with this hangover wasn't ideal. Plus, she would rather he didn't know about everything regarding this facet of her life. Not only did she not want his judgments, but the last time he found anything out about her dating life he'd given her an extremely awkward sex talk. It was something she wasn't planning on repeating. Besides, the less he knew about her arrangement with Catwoman the better. "Goodbye, Mr. Moretti."

He watched her go without a word, just with the usual snarky grin on his face. But once she opened the cab door, he shouted quickly at her, his words rushed and jumbled, "I'll see you again, soon?"

For a moment Amelia was floored and stunned into silence. She took a moment to gather herself. "I'm sorry," she called, a sly grin on her face, "I didn't quite catch that. Can you repeat it?"

"You really ought to get your ears checked, that's not healthy."

Amelia sat in the cab and made as if she was about to shut the door. "Goodbye, James."

"Wait!" James took a few steps down the stairs so he didn't have to shout. "Can I see you again?"

Success! There was no way Catwoman could doubt her resolve, especially not _now _that she was about to agree to go out with the last person on Earth she would want to if she had the choice. "I think I'm free on Tuesday evening, I may be able to pencil you in."

She shut the door so she didn't have to see his self-assured smile, but glanced through the back window as they were driving away to see him practically strut back into the house and pump the air with his fist, already on the telephone. Probably bragging to his friends about how he was about to nail the Ice Queen.

What he didn't know was that she was using him just as much as he _thought _he would be using her.

Two could play at that game.

* * *

"You know the only reason I'm here right now is because you somehow managed to get an in with the Morettis, right?" Catwoman paced back and forth angrily like a caged animal. She'd been talking to herself for a while now, and only half of it made sense.

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Really? It flew over my head the first two times you said it, but I think it's really starting to sink in now. So you're saying it's not just because of my good looks?"

Catwoman ignored her and continued on to finish the rant Amelia had already heard numerous times already. "I've been _trying _to get into that house for months now and somehow _you _manage to do it without even trying. And it was only luck, really, because for some god forsaken reason that boy likes you. You didn't even have to try."

"How would you know if I tried or not?"

"I was _watching _you, you idiot. I needed to know if I could trust you." Catwoman pinched the bridge of her nose. Amelia could hear her slowly counting to ten under her breath. "You were completely blacked out within twenty minutes. Please, tell me how that's 'trying'. Maybe it's just something someone of my tax bracket couldn't understand."

"Twenty minutes? That must be a new record."

"This isn't _funny_, Amelia." Catwoman stared somewhere over Amelia's shoulder for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't think this is going to work out, you and me. I had figured you might be off for a little while, scared, but this is different. You don't have what it takes."

Amelia could understand Catwoman being angry because of her work ethic but _this _was going a little too far. "What do you mean 'don't have what it takes'? You're the one who said I was a survivor. You're the one who _said _I could do it. You're the one who _offered_."

"Yeah," Catwoman snapped, "I messed up. I didn't realize you were a spineless coward."

Amelia, who had taken a seat against the far wall when Catwoman had started her rant roughly forty minutes ago, immediately shot up. She stood chest-to-chest with the older woman and towered over her. A voice deep in her head was telling Amelia to back down, but it was quickly suppressed by overwhelming anger. "Let's get something straight, okay?" she said. "I might be scared right now, I might be a little 'off', but I am _not_ a coward."

"You can't even live in your own house! You spend half your waking moments drunk because you're afraid of talking to people sober," Catwoman hissed. "Tell me how that isn't cowardly. You say you don't want to run anymore, but that's all you do. You're a runner. The first thing you did when he got on your nerves was run straight to the bar. I need someone in there long term, and you obviously don't have what it takes."

"I got James Moretti!" Amelia shouted, closing the space between her and her teacher.

"No, you got lucky!"

Catwoman shoved Amelia aside and got halfway to the door. Amelia's chest tightened. Her hands shook. Her stomach dropped with every step Catwoman took away from her until she felt nauseous. Amelia watched as every expectation she had built up came crumbling down. "No, please!" she begged. She crossed her arms over her chest and groaned. "I'll move back into the manor. Hell, I'll even go out and make some friends. Just please don't go. I can do this."

Catwoman paused. "Are you willing to do things my way this time? No questions?"

"Minimal questions."

"Will you trust me?"

"Actually I have one question first."

Amelia received a doubtful raise of the eyebrows. "What?"

"You all wear masks to keep the people you love safe. Is Moretti going to go after my friends?"

"Moretti is just kids' play. He'll never find anything out. If you ever want to make a little trouble of your own, you might need a mask."

The thought made Amelia ill. "I don't want that."

"Don't count it out. The feeling you can get sometimes, the thrill, it's addicting. You never know. It only takes a little push."

The last thing Amelia could ever imagine herself doing was running around Gotham in a little mask and tights trying to save people that didn't deserve to be saved. She gave Dick credit for doing what he did, because it had to be hard as hell, but she would never do what he did. She didn't believe in it. Masks gave people the courage to do things they normally wouldn't do, good or bad. For every Dick Grayson there was a Charles VanAlstyne. "Don't count on it. I'm no hero."

"Who said anything about being a hero? They're not the only guys running around in masks, sweetheart."

Amelia gulped. "Can you quit trying to talk me into doing things I have no interest in doing and teach me already? One day of missed training is enough."

Actually, one day of missed training did miracles for Amelia's sore muscles and had halfway convinced her to never start working out again, but she didn't want to let that lazy thinking sink in. If she could somehow forget how good it felt to not be sore, she would stop dreading her sometimes twice-daily walks to the gym for her ritual ass-kickings.

"Fine," Catwoman said with a shrug. "But if you ever screw up like that again, don't expect for me to be there when you fall."


	5. Chapter 5

Amelia was finally starting to understand the appeal that Catwoman had been talking about. Ever since Amelia had first started seeing results, she'd felt more comfortable and confident than she ever had in her entire life. She'd even moved back into the manor. She was pushing her limits every day.

Her body was changing accordingly. It hadn't taken long for Camille to notice, who promptly fired her for becoming too muscular. Amelia didn't mind not appearing in the magazines anymore, though. She no longer needed the distraction.

If Charfield had noticed, he hadn't said anything. She remembered how she'd asked him to teach her some basic self-defense back when she was in the hospital. Instead of being supportive, he'd sat her down and reassured her that she didn't need to learn. There was no reason for her to, because he would be there. She had to remind herself daily that he only wanted the best for her in order to prevent herself from resenting him entirely.

Her phone chimed, telling her she'd received a new e-mail. It was probably from James. If playing nice with James and doing a little business with his father was what she needed to do in order to keep Catwoman happy, then she would suck it up and do it. Besides, she was curious. Maybe she'd do a little digging on her own once the opportunity arose.

After all, there were much worse people Amelia could have to deal with than James Moretti.

"_Come to a party tonight? My sister is going to finally admit that she's knocked up and if I have to explain to my aunts why I'm single one more time I'll kill everyone. So you're obligated really. Think of it as a public service. -J_"

Much worse.

"_I'll consider it,_" she replied, "_And for the record, if you were trying to ask me out, mass murder wasn't the way to go._"

"Amelia, can we talk?" Charfield asked as he came into the office without knocking, which was unusual for him. "Why are you smiling?"

"What?" she shoved the phone into her pocket. "Oh, nothing. What's up?" He seemed more on edge than usual. Though, Charfield did have a stick up his ass. Folding napkins wrong was a good way to put him on edge. He had bags under his eyes and his hair was messy like he'd repeatedly run his fingers through it in a nervous frenzy.

"Well," he started, staring at the dark wood of Amelia's desk with a frown. He tapped the cover of a black leather book he held between his fingers. After a bit of deliberation, he threw it down onto the desktop. "I've been working the past few weeks, and I couldn't help but notice a few things. Did you know that VanAlstyne Shipping provides complete services not only to Moretti, but the rest of the mob as well? And that since we've started doing business with them, large containers of weapons and tech have periodically vanished?"

Yes, Amelia had known that. Once she'd gained access to the key to get into those books, she'd spent days uncovering all of Charles' dirty business. She'd only allowed Charfield access to about half of it. The other half was best not seen. There were some bad things in there, experiments that made Amelia glad they cut funding to the weapons and technologies divisions to make way for shipping. In fact, she was planning on making even more cuts to certain divisions. She swallowed. "My grandfather wasn't a very good man. You know that. Why are you bringing this up?"

"Another container went missing last week."

"I know," she informed. "It contained teddy bears we were donating to hurricane victims. Rest assured, they have been replaced. The children will get their teddy bears. I don't see what the big deal is."

His face fell. "Teddy bears made by a German weapons manufacturing company?" he insisted.

Amelia sighed. She was really hoping he wouldn't press matters. "My grandfather may not have been a good man, but he was good at business. He was right about one thing, impartiality. We don't question what they do and they give us business, a lot of business."

"I wouldn't call VanAlstyne Corp personally funding the mob 'impartial'." He bit his lip. "So you're defending Charles? What he's done?"

"No," Amelia snapped. "There's more to it than just that, it's more complicated than you think. And don't you _dare _think that you're going to intimidate me into changing the entire way this company is run based on your uninformed opinions. You're an idealist in times where being so will quickly put you under. Look at Wayne Enterprises. They haven't tanked yet, but they're headed there. I don't know much, but even I know that."

"Amazing," Charfield choked. "You sound just like him."

Amelia stood up from her chair and tried to keep herself from jumping over the desk and punching him. It was well-deserved and would certainly shut him up. "You can leave, Mr. McKnight."

"I will in a second," he stated. He seemed so calm. He'd probably rehearsed this conversation a million times over in the mirror in order to appear so. It was only his shaking hands that hinted otherwise. "I'm concerned about you. Everyone thinks you're better, but I don't see it. Since when are you friends with Moretti? You've always hated him. Now this? Do you know how many times Dick has called for you in the past few weeks? At least a dozen. I don't like the kid, but he's been a good friend to you and he's concerned. So am I. You're getting in deep with the wrong people."

"I really don't appreciate your condescending attitude," she said. Her urge to jump over the desk and pummel him hadn't lessened. "I'm not an idiot. I can take care of myself. I know what I'm doing. And for the record, my personal relationships are none of your concern." She could only imagine how he would react to finding out that she used to spend her time bonding with a notorious cat burglar. Have her admitted to an asylum, probably. She'd end up in the cell right next to her grandfather's. She shivered.

For a moment he looked at her in disbelief. "You're ridiculous. You're turning into him."

All discretion gone out the window, Amelia grabbed the nearest object to her, the book he had thrown on the table, and chucked it hard, aimed directly at his head. "Get out!" she shrieked. Her heart raced, her hands shook, and for a moment nothing happened. A tense silence hung in the air. He looked both sad and angry, but she wouldn't take his pity. She didn't want it. "I am finally happy for the first time in a long time, and I'm not going to let you ruin it. I'm not going to go back to being miserable just so you can sleep well at night."

"Please, Amelia," he begged, "don't do this."

If she didn't have Moretti, she didn't have Catwoman. And if she didn't have Catwoman, she had absolutely nothing. Charfield had done nothing but prove that he was far from on her side. Amelia shook her head. She was still breathing heavily. "Not a chance."

Charfield nodded. "This is goodbye, then."

He didn't mean for the night, or even temporarily. It wasn't goodbye like when he left for college, when she knew she'd see him again once he graduated. It was goodbye for good. Forever. He didn't give her the opportunity to say anything else before he turned around and left, shutting the office door behind him.

* * *

**TWO YEARS LATER:**

Amelia couldn't help but roll her eyes at James' borderline ape-like behavior. His arm snaked tightly around her waist as he stared down all passersby a little longer than necessary, that haughty grin of his ever present on his smug face. "Honestly, the way you behave sometimes, it's more reminiscent of a dog pissing on a fire hydrant than a gentleman in polite society."

After a great deal of convincing and not-so-subtle threats, she had finally persuaded him to attend the annual charity ball meant to raise funds for the Justice League in Washington, DC. Given his parentage, James wasn't too thrilled about the event. Amelia herself wasn't extremely pleased to be there. She was reasonably sure the only reason she received the invitation in the first place was because the ball marked Dick's yearly attempt at getting her to resist the dark side… or something like that.

James simply shrugged, unbothered by the comparison as they swayed to the music. "Am I a cute dog?"

Amelia shook her head. "Absolutely mangy, but the focus of my argument was that I'm the fire hydrant in this situation."

"That's wrong. Red's not your color."

"Every color is my color," she remarked, squeezing his collarbone with a bit more force than was probably warranted. He winced. "What you fail to recognize is that fire hydrants are _inanimate_."

"Well then the premise of your argument is flawed, because I can say with certainty that I've never seen you _inanimate _in my life."

"Let me explain this to you really simply so that you understand. That's just Ollie Queen," Amelia motioned toward the man who had just said hello in passing. "I've known him since I was born. I'm friends with his sister. He's clearly not an undercover cop or anything. I've seen him get into more trouble than you on your worst day. You need to calm down."

"I am calm." He scoffed and stared longingly over her shoulder at the bar.

"You never look at me like you look at brandy."

"That's because brandy and I, see, we've been friends since I was born. You just don't understand our deep, profound bond."

"So what you're saying is that you were born an alcoholic ass?"

"Always with the insults. It hurts, it really does." James laughed and let out a noise that was half sigh, half groan. He really didn't want to be there. He had spent almost an hour fussing over getting his tie absolutely perfect, and had remained unconvinced that there was nothing wrong with it until Amelia had taken a photograph of the damned thing and sent it to his mother for approval. "Then again, I must have pretty thick skin considering how much I've put up with you."

"A martyr if I ever knew one. I'm humbled merely by your presence."

"As you should be."

There were no clocks in this room. Amelia frowned. "What time is it?"

James glanced at his wrist. "Nine thirty."

_Soon. _She took a deep breath. "I need to get to my phone."

"You mean this?" James asked, producing Amelia's cellphone from somewhere within his suit. "I thought you might need it."

"You're perfect." Amelia snatched it. The dance floor was dimly lit, and they were in the corner. No one had been paying any attention to them. She received a text message from a random number. It only contained one word. '_Go._'

James had just enough time to return the phone to his pocket before someone tapped on his shoulder. Amelia's pulse skyrocketed and she could feel the butterflies in her stomach, even though she knew that there was no reason to be nervous. She peered over James' shoulder. Her heart sank.

Dick offered James a warm smile, even though Amelia knew him well enough to know he didn't mean a bit of it. Like Bruce, he was a good actor. She doubted James even realized. "May I?"

James gave Amelia a glance, then shrugged. "Careful, she bites."

Puberty had done a lot to change Dick; she barely recognized him every time she saw him. Without a doubt, he always looked less like the little nerdy boy she had befriended in high school and more like his brooding mentor. Before, he had been just about her height. He was now nearly a head taller than her. She had been skeptical that he was capable of the feats of strength and skill that he had shown when he was younger, but now she didn't doubt it, not for a second. She couldn't even get her hand around his bicep.

His appearance this year had surprised her much less than usual, probably because she had seen him just a few weeks prior. _He_ didn't know he'd seen her, of course. She'd just started interrogating her new toy, an escapee from Belle Reve, when the Boy Wonder and his friends had burst in. They'd easily captured the guy, and she'd just barely escaped. She'd been wearing her mask, so there was no way he could have known it was her. It didn't make her feel any easier.

"Why so nervous?" Dick laughed and guided her more toward the center of the room, toward the light. He really was a much better dancer than James, she had to admit. He spun her around the dance floor with practiced ease. Considering his size, he was surprisingly light on his feet.

"I don't get nervous, you must be confusing me with someone else." Her surroundings suddenly became fascinating, anything to avoid looking at his face and into his judging eyes. It was a nice ballroom, she decided. Lots of marble, gold and chandeliers.

"Good. I was beginning to think you were feeling guilty."

Her heart skipped a beat, and she fought to keep her voice from raising an octave. "Guilty? About what?"

"About not returning any of my calls, texts, or e-mails. Even letters, for that matter. I was beginning to wonder if I was going to need a skywriter just to catch your attention."

"I think you'll find that desperation isn't an attractive quality for a young gentleman such as yourself. Besides, I thought that was what this was for? You tell me all about the bad life choices I'm making, and I tell you, lovingly and with all due respect, to kindly fuck off."

The smile vanished. "The Morettis are not people you want to get involved with, Amelia. You're not safe with them."

Amelia rolled her eyes. She'd heard that plenty of times, many of them from Dick himself. "Well then, that's my own problem. Because you've stopped 'keeping an eye on' me, right?" He didn't answer, so she repeated, "Right?"

"Luther isn't someone you want to be involved with, either," he countered, ignoring her completely but still inadvertently answering her question. She wasn't really surprised. "He's dangerous, like _really _dangerous. He makes the Morettis look harmless. He'll actually kill you."

_He doesn't know, _she told herself, _he can't know. It's impossible. _

"My business with LexCorp is none of your concern." Amelia plastered a pleasant smile on her face, continuing with a sense of assurance she didn't actually feel. "Besides, you say that like I'm not used to people shooting at me. Contrary to what the tabloids would have you think, I'm not actually some fragile damsel. But you know that. So, what? You think I don't know what I'm doing? That I'm dumb?"

Dick's jaw clenched. His jaw had grown broader with age. Was that stubble on his cheek? "No. I think you're very brave, too brave. That's the problem—you shouldn't _have _to be used to people shooting at you. You deserve better than that."

"You're making it sound like I have no sense of self-worth, but I'll have you know I'm just as arrogant as I've always been. I can't help but feel like there's this little part deep inside of you that thinks you know what's good for me better than I do. You can take that little part of you and shove it up your pompous—"

Something deep within Dick's suit started vibrating. He somehow managed to produce a phone out of _somewhere _and answered it. A frown instantly became etched into his features, and his brows only formed a deeper V as the conversation proceeded. After a few "yes" or "no" answers, he hung up. "This isn't over," he informed her, "but I have to go once this song is done."

It was Amelia's turn to frown. "Why, what happened?"

"I don't know a whole lot yet, but you'll probably see it on the news tomorrow morning."

"Is it bad?"

He nodded.

"Really bad?"

Again, he nodded. He looked around, but no one was paying attention to them. Most of the people present were extremely drunk already and only focused on themselves. He leaned forward and whispered into her ear in a low voice, "Stay here in DC tonight. Don't go back to Gotham, it isn't safe."

The song ended so they were finally able to stop dancing. Dick rushed off, and Amelia searched the crowed to find James among a group of older women who probably all found him extremely charming. They, however, didn't notice how jumpy he was and how he was constantly looking around like a paranoid freak. It wasn't totally unwarranted, as she knew more than a few people in the room who would like to have his father's head on a platter, but it was still obvious enough to make _her _uncomfortable. She grabbed his hand and led him through an ornately decorated arched doorway to the bar so that he could finally get _something _in him to calm him down and turn him into at least a semi-functioning human being. She ordered him a drink and got herself a glass of red wine. "Drink this."

He made a face. "It's like you're trying to get me drunk." He eyed her glass in confusion, as he knew very well that she hadn't drunk in years.

"Not drunk, just tolerable." Amelia made as if to drink the wine, but then spilled it all the way down the front of her gown. Her white gown. "Oops."

"Shit!" James glanced around. He didn't know what she was up to; she hadn't told him. He frowned. "Are you alright? Do you want anything?"

"No," she shook her head. "Stay here, I'll go up to the bathroom and call Felix. I'll get this sorted out." She looked down at her gown with a grimace. She really did like it, shame it had to be ruined. "Damn."

She quickly made a servant to show her a back way to the bathroom so that she wouldn't have to walk all the way through the party with an obvious red stain over the front of her dress. Amelia thanked her, made polite conversation, and promptly locked herself inside.

She checked the time. Everything was on schedule.

There was a knock at the door. That would be Felix, arriving just as she had told him to. Felix McKnight, Charfield's father, had insisted on taking over his son's job when he had left, for reasons that Amelia didn't quite understand. Felix had never liked her. She'd almost declined his offer, but he wasn't the sort to ask questions or stick his nose in her business. She needed someone like that. He was dressed in a nice suit and carried a garment bag along with him.

Amelia glanced up and down along the hallway. They were the only ones there. She took the bag from him. "Thank you. I'll see you later."

He nodded, and in a typical Felix fashion, left without a word.

She dressed into the suit it contained, and shrugged on her trench coat. She swallowed her emotions and forced herself to be calm.

Which, of course, all blew up in her face when her phone started vibrating against the marble countertop and clattered onto the floor. She took a moment to compose herself. "Hello?"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Lex's angry voice growled from the other end.

"What do you mean?" Amelia asked innocently.

"Why did you just have my men completely destroy Arkham?"

"Destroy is such a harsh word, I like to think of it as redecorating."

"You blew down an entire back wall, freeing only God knows how many dangerous prisoners. Not all of them are on my side, you know."

She tsked. "Always so angry," she chided, "when will you ever learn to trust me?" None of the men in her life ever believed that she knew what she was doing. Then again, she didn't have a problem letting them believe it. Their believing in her ineptitude made it easier to manipulate them.

"That's hard when you don't tell me what you're doing." He had a point. He _had _told her to call him and let him know what she was up to. She just didn't think he really needed to know. "I don't believe in risk. Don't make me regret giving you this authority."

"You won't," she said, applying a fresh coat of red lipstick. "This isn't a risk, Lex, it's a done deal. Let me do my job and you won't be disappointed. Just take your little robo-bodyguard, shut yourself into that little fortress you call a house, and wait for the good guys to sweep in and save the day. Okay, sweetheart?"

"You have two hours before I send someone after you."

"I'll only need forty-five minutes."

"As I said," he threatened, "you have two hours."

The phone clicked.

That was Lex, always so grumpy. She had Catwoman to thank for her relationship with him. It was amazing how distrusting he was, even after over a year of impeccable service.

It took Amelia only a few minutes to sneak out the window, avoiding the cameras, and make her way down to the infamous Hall of Justice. And people say _she_ was gaudy, the amount of gold used on the fountain alone was ridiculous. She couldn't help but wonder if all the money raised from the fundraisers went toward helping people or toward pimping out the Justice League clubhouse. As she approached she turned up the collar of her coat to hide her face from the street cameras. She fidgeted with her flesh-colored gloves, pulling them up until the rubber put uncomfortable pressure on the webbing of her fingers.

She wouldn't say it was exactly common knowledge that Justice League headquarters wasn't _actually _within the Hall of Justice, but it could be easily deduced by anyone with any sort of common sense. There were only two armed guards. Given, you would have to be pretty stupid to break into the one place crawling with people practically bred to put villains behind bars. That was, if there wasn't a shortage of them and if they weren't all presently preoccupied putting the dozens of dangerous criminals she'd just freed from Arkham back in their cells.

"Hey guys!" she greeted, approaching the guards with a friendly smile. "I'm a grad student who's been doing research on the League for my thesis, and it turns out that I've left my laptop charger in the library. I know it's late, but could you just let me in for like five minutes so I can pick it up?" She reached into her coat and showed the fake badge she'd acquired. "See?"

The one guard looked skeptical. It made sense considering that the idea that the League would let civilians into their library was ludicrous. He took her badge and inspected it. "Well, Mary Smith," he read, "I'm going to have to call this in. If you could please wait here a moment."

"Are you _kidding _me?" she groaned. "Listen, do you know the amount of shit I've had to go just to get clearance for this place? Hint: it took months. Excuse me if I'm a little short, but I've been living off of coffee for the past three weeks and I can count the amount of hours I've had to sleep on one hand. It'll only take five minutes, can you please just let me in so I can go to bed?"

The other guard gave her a warning look. "Listen, ma'am, we'll do this as fast as possible. You're just going to have to calm down and wait."

The first guard was just about to dial in the call. These guys weren't as dumb as she'd hoped.

With a swift hit to the neck she knocked out the guard closest to her, and she got the other one as he was scrambling to put the phone down and take out his gun. "I'm sorry, boys," she cooed to their unconscious bodies as she stole their guns and fished her badge out from the one's coat pocket, "but you really ought to learn not to keep a lady waiting."

Amelia pulled her mask out from a pocket inside her coat and put it on. She really hated the thing. It was uncomfortable and she couldn't see out of her periphery. She adjusted it with a sigh. It felt like putting on a pair of glasses she wasn't used to wearing. At first she'd had to wear it around her bedroom at night in order to limit the amount of fuss that wearing it usually involved. With one final adjustment, she stepped inside.

The building was dark, but as she entered further the motion-censored lights were activated. This caused a ripple effect, turning on all the lights on either side of the circular atrium in a cascading manner. The statues of League members were overwhelming in size, completely towering over her. Even if there was nobody home, this sight would probably be intimidating enough to send her packing if she hadn't been planning this for months. The beauty of the building was absolutely awe-inspiring.

What a pathetically expensive front. Other people obviously thought differently, but if Amelia was going to donate millions of dollars and put her faith in costumed thugs, she'd be pretty pissed walking in here to see that they'd allowed giant statues of themselves to be built instead of putting it to good use. Was all the marble necessary? What was wrong with concrete and tile? It was one of the many reasons she'd never donated a single cent at their little charity ball, no matter how many times she'd been invited.

As she made her way across the observation deck to the entrance of the library, her footsteps echoed so loudly in the large hall that she couldn't help but cringe. Her only saving grace was that the place was totally empty. Otherwise she'd be a sitting duck. The thought still made her uneasy, so she decided to get this done as soon as possible and not revel in the moment.

The large metal doors had words "AUTHORIZED PERSONNELL ONLY" painted on them in bright yellow paint. That was a joke.

She held her card over the scanner in the door and put her gloved hand onto the finger-print reader. It took a moment, but eventually the red lights turned green. There was a click, and the doors slid open.

She had to admit that she was jealous of the extensive library and computer system, and given the opportunity she'd love to spend all day here reading about boring, secret Justice League things. She stopped for a second to admire the full shelves, wishing that she'd had more time to waste. She couldn't imagine what sort of books they even contained, what sort of information was buried here.

After taking a moment to gather herself, she walked to the far side of the room. She held her badge barcode side out in front of her face, just like she'd been told, and waited.

A ceiling tile slid to the side and a small computer swung down abruptly, making Amelia jump. She held her breath. If this didn't work, she'd probably end up in jail. The computer started to scan her body, but it stopped after it scanned the badge. The light turned off. Somewhere in the ceiling, the computer hummed as it tried to stop the virus that had just been introduced to its system.

She had just about given up hope when an automated female voice declared, "Recognized, Nightwing."


	6. Chapter 6

Dick's communicator had been ringing so often that he'd had to silence it in order to avoid unwanted attention from the elderly couple he had been stuck walking behind. The software was having difficulties keeping up with the constant stream of messages he was receiving, often freezing while he was in the middle of responding to one as two more came in. It certainly said something, considering that he had designed the piece of equipment himself specifically so that wouldn't happen.

He forced himself to keep walking at a normal pace, a feat of extraordinary self-restraint. Fires were breaking out all over Gotham. Shop owners were being robbed blind both by the escaped inmates and by thugs trying to take advantage of the bad situation. Civilians were being killed. The term "crisis" didn't really cover it. The team was right in the middle of it. He was a little over an hour away.

_Calm down. What can go wrong in just an hour?_

Dozens of scenarios popped into his head instantly. He really ought to not underestimate his own ability to expect the worst.

He had been approximately ten seconds away from giving the okay to the pilot and flying off to Gotham when he had glanced down at the communicator one last time. Tim was trying to get in touch with him. He hadn't heard from Tim all night, and something told him that the call could only bring more bad news. Tim was usually fairly independent.

He motioned for the pilot to stop preparing for departure with a raise of the hand as he pointed to his phone. "Hello?" he answered.

"Don't freak out, but we kind of have a situation." Tim sounded breathless.

"Yeah, I kinda got that part."

"So you got the notifications from the security system at HQ?"

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn't. It was probably one of the many messages he hadn't gotten the opportunity to respond to yet. "No, but it's probably nothing. I'll put someone local on it on the flight back home."

"That's the situation. You're the only one in the D.C. area right now. We're all in Gotham doing damage control."

_Duh. _Dick was the one who made the order moving everyone to Gotham. He'd completely forgotten. He appreciated Tim's choice to not rub it in his face like he could have done. He'd been stretched thin lately, really thin. He toed the ground with a grimace. He didn't like the idea of leaving them without backup for that long, especially for something that was probably just a stray cat finding its way into the building. Gotham was a war zone. It was dangerous; people were dying. The last thing he wanted was for someone on the team to be one of the casualties.

But still, there was only one right answer. Duty called.

"I'll go check it out. Good luck."

"You too."

He explained to the pilot very politely that he would need to delay the flight for a little while, as he needed to go on an impromptu shopping trip to buy a present for his girlfriend. The pilot obliged, not that he had the choice. Between both Dick and Bruce, he was probably used to stranger demands than this one.

The ride through Washington, D.C. down to the Hall of Justice was relatively fast, especially on motorcycle. Since it was late at night, the streets weren't as crowded as they were during the day. When traffic did get bad, he would just go up onto the sidewalk and make the occasional swerve to avoid a patron or two.

Still, it felt like it took forever. Every second he wasted taking care of this stupid situation was one he could be using to help someone in _real _danger. His hair, which he had previously styled to perfection, blew up in all sorts of angles. Under ordinary circumstances he would have stopped to fix it once he arrived, but there wasn't a whole lot of time to stop to pretty himself up for the security cameras.

The first thing Dick noticed were the security guards slumped up against the doors. It was pretty obvious, even from far away with the limited lighting, that they were unconscious. He bounded up the steps two at a time and checked their vitals. They were fine, which was good, but it also suggested that the security breach was real and most definitely not caused by some stray animal.

This night was just getting better and better. He was so screwed. Batman would definitely kill him.

Dick called in an ambulance to take care of the guards as he stepped quietly inside of the building, typing furiously on the holographic computer on his wrist in an attempt to override the motion-sensored lights and keep himself shrouded in darkness.

So, naturally, the lights popped on as soon as his foot hit the floor.

Someone had hacked the motion sensors.

_What the hell?_

There were many things Dick wasn't good at. Computers were not one of them. The fact that nothing he did actually worked was unsettling. It meant that whoever broke in wasn't after memorabilia. They knew what they were doing.

He hated it when criminals knew what they were doing.

The sound of light, quick footsteps to his far right alerted him to someone's presence too late, as a woman's form rushed out of the shadows. Had she been the threat she definitely would have gotten the jump on him, a thought that resonated uncomfortably in the back of his head. He should have taken less time trying to soothe his bruised ego.

She came more into the light, and Dick was finally able to make out her features. An easy task, really, as he recognized her almost immediately. Amelia.

What was she doing here?

He watched her in shock for a moment as he inspected her appearance. She was bundled up in her coat and looked decently put-together except for the eye makeup smeared down her face and red, puffy eyes. She wasn't physically harmed, at least, something that made him breathe a small sigh of relief.

If there was one thing he knew about Amelia VanAlstyne, it was that she was one of the most stubborn, hard-headed people he had ever met. She could endure a kidnapping and hostage situation without batting an eyelash. He had trouble wrapping his mind around what on Earth could have possibly made her cry.

For once, there was no sass or witty remarks about spandex. She stood there and stared at him with wide, glossy eyes. Her hands were shaking.

God, he _really _didn't have time for this. He was going to find this guy so fast he wouldn't have time to apologize and beg for forgiveness. And then Dick was going to find out how he hacked the system. And then he was going to make him _forget _how he hacked the system. And then he was going to give him a good punch or two for good measure. And after this whole ordeal was over, he was going to stay up late making sure that none of this ever happened again.

That was, if Bruce didn't fire him first.

He couldn't really think of anything to say. She looked fine and he really needed to find the intruder, but he hated to see her cry. He cleared his throat. "Everything's okay, uh… ma'am. I'm here to help."

For at least a few seconds there was no response. Her eyes skated over his face. Her lower lip quivered. Then, she burst into sobs as she rushed over and threw her arms tightly around him. He stumbled backwards, but quickly righted himself and patted the top of her hair, not really sure what to do. His mind raced, trying to think of something comforting to say, but nothing came to mind.

"Why does this always happen to me?" she sniffed. "He had a gun. I just wanted some air, and he came up behind me and—_Jesus_, Dick, don't you ever call me ma'am again." She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, spreading the makeup all the way up her temple into her hairline.

The exchange was much more pleasant than her usual threats or messages to fuck off, though he would really rather that she didn't have to be threatened at gunpoint in order to appreciate his company.

"You're okay," he reassured, holding her at an arm's length. "Now, I need you to tell me what direction he went in. This is extremely important."

"You guys really take your information pamphlets seriously, don't you?"

"Amelia…"

"Fine," she pointed behind her to the right, down a dark hallway toward the back door. "That way. But are you sure you want to go down there? Can't you just call the police?"

He was already headed in that direction.

"Is that at least bullet proof?" she called, making him wince and really hoping that she wouldn't yell so loud.

He rounded one corner after another. How far could he have gone?

There was an engine roar toward the front of the building. He stopped dead in his tracks. Could this mysterious man have run around the entire building in the time it took him to get the information out of Amelia? Impossible.

Mind reeling, he sprinted down the hallway to the front doors of the Hall of Justice just in time to see a masked woman in a black leather suit roll back around on _his_ motorcycle_. _In a stunned silence, he patted the pocket where he usually put his keys. Sure enough, it was empty. His jaw to drop as he realized how hard he'd been played when the woman blew him a kiss goodbye, wearing an unmistakable shade of dark red lipstick.

* * *

Someone had to have put Amelia up to this. There was no way she was capable of breaking into the single most protected headquarters in the world on her own. She could barely operate her smart phone. The level of ability required in order to break into the Watchtower? Dick was still having difficulties wrapping his head around it. _He _wasn't even capable of that.

But why? Who? She'd completely vanished by the time he'd recovered his motorcycle, so there was no way he could talk to her. He'd found it in a back alley just in time to stop a couple locals from trying to steal the tires. Apparently she'd been spotted at the party just minutes after he'd seen her, but jumped on a flight home soon after due to a "headache".

She was a real headache, all right.

Everything about the whole situation was mind-boggling. Amelia was friends with some people he didn't like, but he had a hard time thinking that the Morettis had the mental capacity to break into Justice League headquarters. They didn't even have a motive.

There was also the matter of VanAlstyne Co's recent business deals with Luthor, which is what really worried him the most. It wasn't the first time they had collaborated with LexCorp and so far everything looked to be perfectly legal, but then again, everything Luthor did looked perfectly legal on the surface.

His thoughts turned to the unconscious guards. How had she knocked them out? He hardly thought her capable of capable of that. Those were armed, grown men, and it had taken her less than a minute to knock them both out without anyone noticing. That wasn't something you learned in any sort of martial arts class, it took practice. Lots of practice.

Just what had she gotten herself into?

Amelia was a pain and made plenty of bad decisions, but she wasn't a bad person. He didn't want to get her in trouble when he still wasn't completely sure what was going on. He owed it to her to try to take care of things without getting everyone else involved if possible. She wouldn't last a day in prison. She was just as vulnerable as anybody else, probably even more.

Then again, there wasn't even any concrete evidence definitively saying that it was actually her in that building at all, seeing as she'd been sure to wear _his_ fingerprints and had taken the care to smear them _everywhere. _It had taken him hours to wipe everything free of prints. She'd touched literally everything she could get her hands on, probably just to spite him. No door handle, table top, or toilet flusher had escaped her grasp. He could only imagine what the inside of the Watchtower looked like, but that was something Bruce would have to take care of. Dick had been temporarily denied access to the zeta-tube network because it was _his _identity she had decided to use to gain entry.

Not cool. Not at all.

Since he'd boarded the plane he'd been in almost constant contact with Tim and the rest of the team. Everything was going pretty well on their end, thankfully. No one had been hurt, and they'd been able to capture most of the minor escapees. It was the big guys, the ones that still had contacts on the outside, that they still hadn't been able to find. They were also the more dangerous of the criminals, ones he wasn't comfortable leaving the team with to find themselves. That was Justice League territory.

There was no way they were going to find everyone tonight. Some of the top-tier criminals had probably gotten far away from Gotham, maybe even half way across the globe by now. This had probably set the League back weeks, if not months.

The sun was finally starting to rise, which cast an eerie red glow on the white interior of the asylum's hall. The inside of the cells were darkened, as they hadn't yet been able to restore power to the building, but he could catch a glimpse of the occasional fuzzy halo of light caused by a streetlamp below. The entire back wall of this wing had been blown to pieces, leaving the cells completely exposed. By now, all of the inmates had climbed down and found their way to freedom.

Quinzel. Falcone. Isley. This wasn't good at all. After a while he stopped bothering to read the names. All of their cells were empty, which wasn't surprising in the least. He rubbed his throbbing temple. Everyone was gone.

He was just about to tell himself that there was no way that this day could possibly get any worse, when there was a low, male chuckle down the hall. Apparently he spoke too soon. He took a few cautious steps down the hall and peered around the corner. He could see a dark shadow from behind the small, glass window in the cell door.

He wasn't alone. His muscles tensed, preparing for the worst.

"Hello?" he called. "Who's there?"

That was a stupid question, he soon realized, as there was a name tag on the door. _VanAlstyne. _He had to stop himself from groaning out loud.

A set of familiar, grey eyes appeared through the window in the door. Charles smiled in a way that made Dick's skin crawl. "Tell me, does that mask of yours impair your vision, or does the Justice League not require literacy amongst its members?

Clearly sarcasm ran in the family.

"It's dark," he started, before realizing that he probably shouldn't give Charles the satisfaction. It was all just part of his game. "What are you doing here?"

"This is my cell. I've been sentenced here for life. Where else would I be?"

"Why haven't you run off?" Dick rephrased. "Shouldn't you be somewhere off the coast of France by now?" If Dick blew the lock on the door, he could get a set of handcuffs on him. Charles seemed calm, though, and in no rush to run away. Still, he wasn't going to take the chance.

"I've never been particularly fond of heights," Charles explained while examining his fingernails, "and I find France terribly overrated."

Dick placed the charges on the door. "Stand back," he ordered. Why hadn't anyone come up here to get him? Had they been stupid enough to just assume that everyone would have escaped without checking? Once they blew, Dick quickly forced the door open and handcuffed Charles to the cell door. The old man was totally compliant, even offering his wrist. "What are you up to?"

"Me? I'm not a schemer like the rest of them." Charles rolled his eyes in the direction of his fellow inmates' empty cells. "I merely have hobbies."

Hobbies that just so happen to include kidnapping, torture, rape, and murder. Dick's stomach churned.

Dick was just about to leave to go call a guard when Charles continued, "I also have a strong sense of self-preservation."

Self-preservation? What was that supposed to mean?

It was a test. Charles knew he had Dick's attention. He shouldn't play into his game, he couldn't. But could they really afford to be blindsided again? He gritted his teeth, no. "What did you say?"

Charles yawned. "I really am exhausted. Would you mind calling someone now? I would hate to catch a cold and end up wasting the taxpayers' hard-earned money. I think you can agree there's no justice in that."

Charles wasn't the only exhausted one, and Dick wasn't about to let himself be manipulated into doing exactly what he wanted. He'd already been manipulated enough for one night. He grabbed the front of the older man's shirt in his fist and growled, "What's out there that's got you so scared, huh? Tell me."

"Tit for tat, young man."

"I don't negotiate with criminals."

"Then you get nothing."

Charles produced a folded piece of paper from within his shirt. Apparently he _had _gone off somewhere, but had returned without getting caught. "Give this to my granddaughter, and I might consider helping you."

Dick eyed the slip of paper warily. Amelia would never accept the letter, not that he really had to deliver it. He could just throw it away. He could even read it himself, to see what sort of information it contained. After a moment of deliberation, he snatched it from Charles' hand. "Fine, then. Tit for tat, old man. Clock's ticking."

Charles shrugged. "There's someone coming back to Gotham, someone who I'm not overly fond of. In fact, I very much believe that I am safer behind bars for the time being."

"You're not fond of them, or they're not fond of you?"

"I believe the feeling is mutual."

Dick's lips tugged downward into a frown. Was this letter going to be worth it? "Who 's coming to Gotham?"

"Do you honestly think he'd be alive right now if I knew his real name?"

No. He had a point.

"Why is he coming?"

"I don't think you've earned that, yet," Charles smiled.

Dick bit his lip and leaned over Charles the best he could. "Why are you so afraid of him?"

"Because I'm on a list and, despite everything, I would really rather not die."

The sick feeling was back in his stomach. For someone who had killed so many defenseless women, he was awfully concerned about his own life. "Your wife jumped off the top of a skyscraper to save herself the shame of having _you _for a husband. I can see why." The words were harsh, and if they had been said to anyone else but Charles VanAlstyne, he might have felt a little guilty. But this man didn't deserve anyone's pity; he was a monster.

Charles didn't react the way Dick had expected, he actually smiled. "You're not going to be able to stop him from coming. You're not going to be able to save everyone. So, young man, you had best start thinking about which of your precious little friends is expendable. Because when he gets here, he's going to burn you."


	7. Chapter 7

Amelia sat on the couch, her face finally clean from all the makeup. She tugged her hairbrush through the knots that had formed at the end of her long curls in the shower. So far it had been a quiet night, and luckily she'd received no angry messages from Dick.

Waving to him had been a stupid, impulsive thing that she'd regretted immediately after she'd done it. She hadn't counted on him having the sheer speed it required to be able to run back and actually _catch _her. At the moment she'd figured she was screwed anyway, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she probably would have gotten away with it.

She closed her eyes and pictured his reaction in her mind. At first he'd been angry, so angry that her stomach had dropped and she'd begun to sweat, despite the cold. Then, his jaw had dropped. He'd taken a step back. His face softened.

He knew. There was no question about it.

The police weren't at the door yet, so that was a good thing. She was counting on his noble nature to get her out of this. Would he even say anything, or would he simply try to handle things himself? He thought she was pretty pathetic, which was in her favor. She made a mental note to shed a few tears the next time the photographers were around. After all, fragile little Amelia VanAlstyne wouldn't last a day in jail.

"Why the long face?" James slurred as he stumbled in from the kitchen, wearing her mask lopsidedly on his face. It was too small for him, and his eyes weren't even in the right position to see through the holes. He leaned against the doorframe, swinging his glass around carelessly in his free hand. "You did good tonight, Lex'll be real proud." His eyes skated over her for a moment and he frowned. "I don't know why you don't just keep clothes here. I mean, your toothbrush is here. Everyone knows home is where your toothbrush is."

Amelia was floored that James was even conscious, considering how much he'd had to drink. The fact that he was actually stringing together semi-grammatically correct sentences was nearly a miracle. Usually at this point he'd get really groggy and hold onto her in that vice-like grip of his like he was a small child with a teddy bear, but the adrenaline of tonight must have gotten him wound up. She couldn't help the smile that came easily to her face as she shrugged and said, "Don't try to act like you don't like it when I wear your clothes." Besides, men's clothing was designed to be more comfortable than women's.

He rolled his eyes and put the glass down on the coffee table, which she quickly slid a coaster under before the liquid had a chance to drip down from the brim of the glass onto the wood. If it wasn't for her, the table would be in the trash by now. He tossed the mask somewhere behind him and started massaging her shoulders, his fingers surprisingly gentle considering his current state of inebriation. "Relax," he whispered into her ear, his voice low. "Whatever's going on, I'm sure it'll all be fine. It always is."

"Thanks," Amelia sighed, sinking into his skilled fingers. "That means a lot from someone who's had enough alcohol to tranquilize a small horse."

"Are you calling me drunk?" he looked skeptical.

"I'm saying your judgment is pretty impaired."

"I don't think you know what you're talking about. If I was drunk, could I do this?" James snatched up a lamp from the end table and attempted to balance it on his head, but he stumbled and it shattered on the floor. His lips came together in a small pout. "Oops."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Get over here, you big ape." She figured he would just walk around the couch like a normal human being, but instead he responded by promptly throwing himself over the back of the couch, nearly toppling over on top of her. "Oomph!"

As was a little more his style, James grabbed her by the chin and turned her face toward him. He stared at her intensely, his eyes darting over her face. "I am so thankful, every day, for having someone as amazing as you in my life."

That was so him. The second he took the one shot that would topple him over into a blackout, he was full of grand gestures and declarations of love. When he was sober? Nothing. Not a peep. "Thanks, James."

He frowned. "I mean it, you don't believe me?"

"Of course I believe you." Amelia gently pulled him forward and placed a chaste kiss on his forehead. "How's your dad been lately? Is he still upset?"

"He called me earlier." He shrugged. "He's on edge, but when is he not? He doesn't really know what to do right now. He's waiting to decide what to do next. I don't know." He let out a groan. "I don't know. I don't want to talk about him. I hate him."

Amelia was a second away from telling him he didn't have to. His father was always a sore subject for him, and he was in such a good mood tonight that she didn't want to ruin it with questions, even though she knew she ought to. He didn't give her the chance. His hand snaked around to the back of her neck as he pulled her close. He hesitated for a moment, just long enough for her to be able to catch the scent of alcohol and cigarettes in his warm breath, and pushed his lips up against hers lightly. It wasn't until she wrapped her arms tightly around the back of his neck, winding her fingers into his hair, that his response became more heated and demanding. He pulled up the back of the white, oversized shirt she'd stolen from his closet so he could trace light circles on her spine with his fingertips. Her shoulders shook with an involuntary shiver.

Needless to say, she was surprised when he flinched away like he'd been burned the second she reached up to touch his chest. He pushed her away from him with a sudden intake of breath. "Stop."

"What's wrong?"

James shook his head. "Nothing."

She could still feel the way his muscles clenched beneath her fingers. She frowned. "No, it's not nothing." She started unbuttoning his shirt and was met with only feeble resistance, probably because the effects of the alcohol were starting to sink in more.

"Stop it," he whined and dropped his head, but made no real attempts to stop her. His chest, all the way down and around his side was covered in deep purple bruises that were obviously painful to the touch. She remembered the ways she had grabbed him or leaned up against him throughout the day. How much had that hurt him? Why hadn't he said anything?

"How did this happen?"

His head rolled to the side and he slurred, "Nothing happened."

Amelia grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. He averted his eyes, staring somewhere over her shoulder. "What happened to you?" she demanded.

"Lacrosse."

"You're lying." Amelia flew up, leaving him alone on the couch. "Why didn't you tell me? Your dad did this, didn't he? Jesus, James, why do you let him do shit like this to you? You're twice his size, you know that, right? I'm proud of you for saying no to him, but for god's sake, stick up for yourself. Is your mother okay? Did you even check?"

"Shut up." James stood up to tower over her. He was angrier than she'd seen him in a long time. "Shut up," he repeated in a low growl. "You don't know anything. You have no idea what's going on. God, sometimes you're just so _fucking _annoying," he was screaming in her face at this point with such ferocity that she found herself taking a step back. "Fuck it! Why don't you just march up to him and let him know, huh? You can do that for me, right, since I'm obviously so incompetent?"

His fists clenched and unclenched, and Amelia began to wonder how things had taken such a bad turn. She was worried for a second that he might hit her, but instead he picked the glass up from the table and tossed it against the far wall. A brown liquid stained the light grey walls as it trickled down.

"Damn, Amelia. Why do you always have to ruin everything?"

She could think of a few snarky remarks, but she didn't want to upset him any further. Instead, she sat down and stated calmly, "James, you're scaring me." He wasn't, but she did need him to calm down.

He stood there for a moment, silent and dumbfounded. "I'm sorry," he eventually said, looking like a child who had just gotten yelled at for doing something bad. He stared down at his hands. "I would never hurt you. You know that, right?"

No, he couldn't, but he could try. She'd seen him snap and get into fights dozens of times. Half of the time he didn't even know what he was doing until afterward, when he'd been pulled off of the poor guy by someone twice his size. She'd never seen that anger directed at her before, though. She shrugged.

"God, please don't think that. I can't imagine… you make me… you make everything bad about me disappear," he stumbled over his words, both because he was drunk and because he was flustered. He buried his face in his hands. "I won't be like him, I won't. I'm not."

One look at him and she caved.

"You're not." She sighed, pulling him close into a tight hug. "I know you're not. It's time to go to bed, okay? It's late."

He nodded and responded by holding onto her tightly. She prayed silently to herself that he wouldn't remember any of this in the morning.

* * *

Amelia twirled the thumb drive around her fingers and leaned back in Lex's desk chair, her legs crossed up on top of the paperwork covering his desk. "Now," she asked, "what have we learned from this experience?"

Lex rolled his eyes. "I will never doubt you again, my dear." His gaze followed the drive, and she could tell that he wanted to pluck it from between her fingers.

It wouldn't hurt to taunt him a little longer. "You know, I almost got caught by the incorruptible Nightwing himself. I think that doubles, maybe even triples the price."

"You were never in any _real _danger. As you said, the Justice League and those associated with them are incorruptible, harmless. Their bark is much worse than their bite."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Amelia sighed wistfully. She didn't doubt for a second that Lex would love for her to get arrested, because then he could finally find out who she was. He hated not being able to figure it out, but she'd taken so many precautions that it was impossible for him. She even had a voice manipulator built into her suit. "I wonder how much Moretti would pay for this? I hear they have a rodent infestation over on his home turf, and I'm not talking mice I'm talking the little bastards with wings, you get me? So I'm pretty sure he'd pay me a pretty penny to get _that _thorn out of his side."

"Why do I get the feeling you're giving both of us the same speech? How do I know you don't have multiple copies?"

"You don't." She shrugged. "But what was this about trusting me? Didn't you say you were going to start doing that from now on? Sweetheart, I'm hurt."

He stared at her for a long time. "One and a half, and I give you full authority over everyone I have in Gotham. You'll own the city overnight."

"Two and a half, I already own the city. It stinks and your cronies are dumber than bricks."

"Fine. I suppose I can up it to two, because I like you. You've always been good to me. And many of my _crones _are Ivy League graduates."

Amelia leaned forward in the desk and folded her hands in front of her. She spoke slowly and enunciated every syllable carefully. "I don't think you fully understand how little I care about your politics and all the cities you own, so I'm going to clue you in. You can give me Gotham, but I will burn it to the ground along with your Ivy League shitheads. I'm upping my offer to three times our original deal because you're annoying the fuck out of me. That's final. I like you, Lex. Don't make me walk away."

Lex sighed and pursed his lips, but eventually nodded. It wasn't like he could refuse information taken directly from the Justice League databases. Anyone would pay to get their hands on it. She could think of a few countries that would pay a much heftier price than Lex just to get a peek of half the data it contained, which was precisely why she was upping the price. It would just look bad if she didn't.

He had never done her wrong before, and he had no reason to start now. Amelia tossed the flash drive across to him. "Give me the details when your nerds are done checking it out. I just clicked on anything that looked interesting."

For a split second he looked annoyed, but his calm mask quickly returned to his face. "Of course." He glanced down at the drive between his fingers, probably wondering if he got anything worthwhile. "What did you 'click on', may I ask?"

"You're not getting vacation photos from Mars, if that's what you're wondering. Which I found, by the way." She was distracted by the screen on her work phone lighting up, which was strange because she usually never got text messages. She preferred to communicate through calls.

She peered over at it, receiving a judgmental eyebrow raise from Lex. It read: _I had a dream about you last night. Hurry back so I can tell you all about it. _She recognized the number, it was James. He'd probably just woken up, which sounded about right because it was four in the afternoon.

She would kill him. She didn't even know _how _he had managed to get this number.

"Sorry." Amelia cleared her throat. "Well, I can tell you the project file was called 'Project Eden'. A little overdramatic and a bit too biblical, but it's totally up the League's ally. It sounded big."

Lex frowned and inspected the drive in his fingers like he could figure out something just from looking at it. Probably looking for fingerprints while he was at it, knowing him. "It does. I'll send it out immediately, stand by for further information. I'll let you know what's going on as intelligence comes in."

"That's sweet."

He smiled. "I know how you like to be kept involved, and—" Amelia's phone started vibrating; she was getting a phone call. "Do you need a moment?"

With a grimace and a vow to pummel the idiotic man into the dust the next time she saw him, she nodded and darted out into the hall.

"_What_?" she whispered, "You better have a really damn good reason for calling me on this number—how the hell did you even get it, by the way?—or I'm going to slaughter you."

"It _is_ important."

"Well then, what is it?" She tried to imagine scenarios—had his father decided to take advantage of the League's predisposition?

"I'm making dinner reservations, and I need to know if you'll make it back before seven."

Amelia buried her face in her free hand for a moment. "You've got to be kidding me. I'm working."

"Working up an appetite, I hope. I'm thinking we could try that new little place, the one that awful critic just gave a five-star rating."

That awful critic just so happened to be his own sister, but she wasn't about to humor him. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response. Do you know how much trouble you could get me in? What if they trace this? I'm going to need to get a new phone now."

"That's the white one, right? It's a shame. I liked that one. Anywho, would you mind waiting a moment? I have the restaurant on the other line."

He was completely unremorseful, not to mention impossible. Exasperation didn't even begin to cover it. She snuck a peek out to see Lex watching her curiously, probably wondering what was making her so angry. She could only imagine how red her face was. It was time to go. "I can't deal with you right now. And we are most certainly _not _going to dinner."

"What?!"

"I have business plans."

"All this business, it's so _boring_." He groaned loudly. He was silent for only the briefest of moments before his tone improved, and he asked, "What color underwear are you wearing?"

Amelia hung up.

Lex eyed her suspiciously. "Do you need to go? If so, that's alright. I was just about done with you, anyway."

She took a look at the time. She _did _need to get ready for her actual dinner plans. "Yes, actually. I'll catch you on the flip side, love."

It didn't take her too long to drive back to her home, and when she did she quickly tossed her costume and mask onto the bed and donned more business-appropriate attire. She took a moment to glance back at the mask lying on the pillow warily. She'd always hated masks, even before she moved to Gotham. People who could do things anonymously weren't famed for their kind acts. She didn't want to be cruel, and she knew she had a large capacity to do so.

When her last real attachment to a normal life, Charfield, had left, she'd welcomed the anonymity. She'd used the mask as a way to permanently stay in this world that she had created. She didn't need to work in darkness, or through anyone else. She was in charge. In retrospect, wearing it so soon was probably a mistake. In the end, she'd only ended up proving herself right about the true nature of anonymous actors.

She'd taken a break or a while, but necessity had called. She'd taken this job, this _last _job, because she'd been given an offer she couldn't refuse. Then she was done.

Amelia took a glance at the time and rushed out the door after chucking the suit and mask into the back of a drawer somewhere. How long had she been staring at it? Minutes, at least. _Stupid._

She may have forced Felix to drive a little faster than he normally would have liked, but she made it to the meeting on time. She was nervous. Amelia was convinced that she would never get used to normal life. Her heart fluttered up into her throat and opening the door took some willpower.

She could talk one of the most dangerous men on the planet out of hundreds of millions of dollars, but a brief meeting threatened to send her running like a little girl.

She could feel everyone's eyes on her upon entering, though in reality it was probably only three or four people. She walked straight to the back table, where she always went. He was there early, as he always was. He was reading a newspaper this time, which he held up stiffly.

Their waitress came by and asked if he would like a glass of wine. She didn't ask Amelia. In fact, Amelia doubted that the waitress even noticed she was there at all. He sent her away with what had to have been a dazzling smile, she couldn't tell because the newspaper obscured his face, because the waitress' face turned a deep red and she hurried away, grinning ear to ear.

"So, have you heard about this business with Arkham?" he asked. "It sounds dreadful. I'm thinking of starting a relief fund. Can you just imagine how poorly the Justice League must be doing? I hear they got most of those crazies, but it took them all night." He set the paper down on the floor with a groan, which was made much less convincing by the broad smile on his face. "Exhausting just to read, honestly."

Amelia forced a smile. "I'm sure the League is handling it quite well, Mr. Wayne."


	8. Chapter 8

"You're probably right," Bruce chuckled to himself quietly. "The League is the best at what they do, you've got to give them that."

"I don't know," Amelia shrugged. "Optimistically second best, I'd say. A little bird told me there was a break-in the other night at some supposed top-secret headquarters of theirs. It's an awful coincidence, really."

"Funny, a disheveled 'little bird' told me the same thing."

"Has he told anyone else?"

"No. I don't think he's going to, either." Bruce shook his head, "After everything, he seems to think he can change you for the better."

"You'd think I'd be a lost cause by now," she laughed and cracked her fingers, leaning her arm over the back of her chair. "Especially after I flat out told him to go fuck himself and dumped his motorcycle in the shittiest section of D.C. I could find on short notice."

"Apparently not."

Amelia had to admit that she was surprised by Dick's heavy devotion to a friendship she had spent so long trying to convince him didn't exist. But then again, it made sense. Dick didn't seem like the kind of kid to give up on anyone. She would have thrown her ass in jail by now if she was him. "So no cops?"

"No cops."

Amelia breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she needed was to get arrested. Not only would it be a pain, but it would ruin everything they'd worked for up to this point. Not to mention that orange totally wasn't her color.

"But," Bruce continued, "you might want to throw the kid a bone. He won't say it, but he's still pretty worked up over lying to you about Charles. He's learning, but he still doesn't know how to let guilt go yet."

She shook her head. "I don't think that's ever going to happen. If I have to hold the fact over his head for the rest of his life to get him to behave the way I need him to, I will. And I won't feel bad about it."

Bruce's lips tugged downward and rubbed the back of his neck. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he almost looked annoyed. "He's under a lot of pressure right now, more than you know. At least try to act like a decent human being. I don't know, volunteer at a children's hospital or something. Let him think he's getting through to you."

"No. That's completely out of the question. He doesn't think I'm capable of keeping myself in one piece." Amelia took a moment to glance around and make sure they weren't gaining any unwanted attention, then leaned forward and hissed, "How do you think Lex would take it if he found out his little assistant has a Justice League bodyguard, huh?"

Bruce knew she was right, but he didn't say anything else about the subject. It wasn't like Amelia _wanted _to be so mean to Dick, but he made it so that she had to. He smothered those he cared about. If she let him think that even the faintest friendship with him was possible, she'd instantly be monitored and coddled.

Lex Luthor was a paranoid man. The last think she needed was for him to trace her back to Nightwing. If he even got the least bit suspicious, she would be dead. Seeing as she wasn't trying to die any time soon, Dick would just have to suck it up and deal with a little guilt for the time being.

After all, it wasn't like _he _was the one rubbing elbows with the most dangerous people on the planet on a daily basis. She wasn't the least bit sympathetic about the supposed stress she was putting him under. He would survive. He may hate her, but at least he would be alive.

Bruce cleared his throat. "So, I'm guessing your all-access pass worked properly? Did you run into any problems?"

Amelia shook her head. It had taken Bruce a long time to work out a way to hack into the system he himself had spent so long fortifying. There was nothing left for anyone to trace back to her, not even a hint. The rest of the Justice League would have no idea she had even been there. "Processing took a little while, but it worked. You had me worried. For a second, I thought it was a trap."

He was quiet for a moment, and something told her that she hadn't been the only one worried. Bruce was a notorious worrier and anal micromanager, he still didn't trust her. Then again, it wasn't like he didn't have reason not to. The League had had its own troubles with spies lately, based on what Selina had told her. Amelia was never able to weasel any information out of Bruce, but it was always really easy for Selina, who was obviously much better at manipulating males. Or whatever her relationship with Bruce was, she'd never asked. She didn't really _want _to know.

She didn't blame him for not trusting her at all. After all, she _had _completely wiped the League databases on everything they had about her while she had access to their systems.

She was helping them, it didn't hurt to ask for a little something back in return.

If that really was what he was thinking, it didn't show. "It took a really long time to wipe all of Dick's fingerprints from everything, by the way. You're lucky I don't charge by the hour. You'd be broke."

"Doubt it. So, are you going to give me the details about this garden of yours or are you going to make me wait to find out?" She shrugged, "You know how I hate to be kept waiting."

He looked skeptical. "It might be better if your reaction is genuine."

"I think you'll find that I'm a pretty good actress. I fooled your little friend, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did." Bruce looked hesitant for a moment and glanced around nervously. He eventually sighed and gave in. "It's not real, for starters."

"Whoa," Amelia's jaw dropped. "Hold the phone. Really? You've got to be fucking kidding me. I mean, next you're gonna tell me the Easter Bunny isn't real and that Jesus was a real dude."

"Jesus _was _a real 'dude'."

"That's not the point," she rolled her eyes. "I'd kind of figured out that part already. Is it all a distraction? Is at least part of it real?"

He gave her a look that said that he clearly wasn't about to tell her the whole truth. "All you need to know is that once he connects it to his computer and starts trying to access the files, big brother will have full access to his entire network and all the information on it."

This time, when Amelia's jaw dropped, it was entirely genuine.

This was huge, like if they were able to finally trace something, _anything _back to Lex he could be arrested. LexCorp would go out of business, and half of his customers would probably go to Wayne Enterprises where Bruce could monitor them heavily for illegal activity. Everything illegal that Lex was involved in would suffer, if not cease to be entirely due to lack of funding.

This wasn't local anymore. This would cut down on global crime. What was _she_ doing in the middle of all of it?

Not to mention the fact that it would put a large target on her back. With Lex gone, she'd be the next one criminals would go to because she didn't have the Dark Knight inspecting their every move. She didn't really care what they did with their time and money. It was their choice. She didn't care who won in the grand scheme of things, as long as she was left alone.

Ultimately, it would make her the largest supporter of organized crime in the United States, maybe even the world.

She hadn't planned on taking down Lex entirely. She needed Lex. If he went out of business, the Justice League would come after her next.

"I thought the deal was I provide you with enough information to keep you happy so I can get that warm and fuzzy feeling inside every now and again, not this shit."

"Well, _this _is what makes me happy now."

She paused. "Let me rephrase that, because I honestly don't care what makes _you _happy. This doesn't make _me _happy. Is Lex going to find out about the program?"

"Not unless you tell him."

"I'm considering telling him."

"And basically tell him you're a spy in the process? I'm sure he'll take that really well. You can be my guest, let me know how that goes."

Amelia was not happy, not one bit. She crossed her arms across her chest with a huff, only earning an infuriating smile from Bruce. He was right.

She stood up and grabbed her purse. "The only thing that's keeping you safe right now is the fact that any retaliation would trickle down on Richard, Mr. Wayne, keep that in mind. You're mine once he's free from your clutches, so you should probably hold onto him as tightly as possible. I'm not going to be bullied into handing over my company to the League. If that makes me the bad guy, then I hear the Light has pretty good benefits and would just _die _to hear about what Bruce Wayne does in his spare time."

His grin vanished. "Thank you for your services, Miss VanAlstyne."

"You're not welcome."

"You're helping a lot of people."

"Not interested." She pushed her chair in.

"You're helping _him_."

Amelia faltered only a moment before storming out of the restaurant without a second glance.

* * *

Amelia's arms had never burned worse in her life.

They were beyond burning, actually. They hurt. Her muscles shook and quaked. Her knuckles were sore. She was covered with rope burn all down her legs and on her hands.

She blinked through the sweat that stung her eyes. The only thing keeping her from dropping now was the fact that she would probably break her legs from this height. "Can I come down now?" she called.

"What?" Selina asked offhandedly while leaning onto the back legs of her chair, filing her nails. "I don't think I heard you."

"It's been over ten minutes!"

"Poor little kitten, that must be really hard on you."

Amelia gritted her teeth, biting back the string of obscenities that begged to pour out of her mouth. That was, until Selina crossed the room to shake the rope a little, just for good measure.

"Fuck you!" she shouted as she almost fell. Blood seeped between her fingers, and tears prickled in the back of her eyes. "When the hell am I ever going to be doing _anything _like this?"

"Never, hopefully."

"Are you _kidding _me?!"

"Hey!" Selina warned harshly, "if you fall now, it's going to be a hell of a lot worse for you down here when I kick your ass. I guarantee it."

"I don't see how that's possible."

"You're not skilled enough to actually take half of the people you piss off in a real fight, you've got to know that. These people have been training since they could walk. Half of them have metagenes. You need to learn to avoid them; make a quick getaway. A lot of the time that involves rope climbing and holding on for dear life. You'll thank me for this someday."

"I hate you."

Selina shrugged and returned to her chair. "If you bitched less, maybe it would be easier. You're using up all your oxygen."

"The bitching distracts me from harsh reality."

Selina laughed, and was about to say something when Amelia's phone rang in her gym bag. She quickly retrieved the phone, and after a moment of deliberation, called, "You can come down now, if you want. But only because it's work related."

Thank god.

Amelia carefully made her way down and collapsed to the floor. She could barely pick up the phone when Selina tossed it to her. She turned the speaker phone on so she didn't have to hold it in her sore hands. "Hello?"

"I had these really great chocolates imported since you were having a bad day. Well, I think they should be good. My sister says they're great, but she's pregnant again so what does she know—her favorite food is fried pickles right now."

"James," Amelia groaned weakly. She had no sort of patience for this. "I haven't eaten chocolate in two years, I don't know why you would think I was going to start now."

"You were really pissy the other night, I don't know. I figured maybe it was hormonal."

_He means well_, she had to remind herself as she counted down from ten slowly. "Let me get this straight, I'm having a bad day because you think I'm _PMSing, _and you're waving chocolate in my face when you know I don't eat it?"

There was a pause on the other line in which James probably realized his mistake. "I didn't think of it like that."

"Obviously not."

"I don't know why you don't eat chocolate. I mean, you have a great figure. I'm not saying you should become a large Italian woman like my grandmother, but you could stand to gain a few pounds."

At this point, Selina was clenching her finger between her teeth to keep from laughing.

"James?"

"Yes, gorgeous?"

"I need you to understand, in all sincerity, deep down in your heart of hearts, that I would never lift a single finger to change myself in order to make you happy. Am I perfectly clear?"

"Yes ma'am, and I wouldn't want you to."

"Good answer."

"But does this mean you're not coming over tonight?"

Amelia glanced up at Selina, whose look said that she clearly wanted her to. Amelia's lips pursed. "No, babe, I can't. I have to pick up the dogs, Isabelle's been watching them for like four days now." She wasn't lying, she _did _have to pick up the dogs. She'd gotten them after Charfield had left to keep her company, and they were probably needier than children. "Don't you have schoolwork or something?"

He groaned. "It's so _boring_. I find you much more entertaining."

"I know, I'm sorry," Amelia sighed. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"You owe me big. With all the time I've had to do homework I'll be getting A's soon. You're turning me into a nerd. Do you know what that could do to my reputation?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you'll survive. How's lunch tomorrow sound?"

"I get out of class at noon."

"Okay, well, I'll meet you then."

"I guess." She could just imagine the pout on his face. He was such a two-year-old.

"Listen," she was starting to get frustrated, "I _told_ you I'd make it up to you."

"Yeah, but I don't know what that means."

"_Figure it out,_" she hissed as she hung up the phone, partially due to frustration and partially to keep him from hearing Selina's loud burst of laughter.

* * *

Amelia pulled up to the home Isabelle Vega lived in with her aunt and grandfather. It was much nicer than the one she had been living in previously, she had made certain of that. They weren't in the heart of Gotham, where Isabelle needed to be escorted to the terrible public school by her aunt every day. Instead, they were in a furnished, pale blue colonial toward the outskirts of town, Isabelle was now a sophomore at Gotham Academy, and Felix drove her to school every morning.

Despite her close association with Amelia, Belle hadn't inherited Amelia's reputation as an ice queen. There were those who didn't like her because she wasn't a blue blood, but those were only a select few. Honestly, she was the most genuinely nice person Amelia had ever met. From the sound of it, everyone loved her.

Belle must have seen her coming, because she opened the front door and called something to her. Amelia couldn't quite make it out because she was quickly dwarfed by two large, barking Dobermans who bounded toward Amelia at full speed.

Amelia eyed them skeptically as soon as they came to a screeching stop in front of her. "I don't know what you think you're doing, because you're not going home yet," she told them under her breath as she stepped up onto the porch. She tousled Belle's dark curls affectionately as she walked into the house. "Hey, love. How were they? Did they behave? I hope they didn't cause too much trouble. How's school been?"

"One question at a time!" Belle followed her in and flopped onto the couch. She scratched at the smattering of freckles that covered her cheekbones. "Good, yes, and great! I joined the mathletes last week. I mean, I'm the only girl, but—"

"Youjoined the _mathletes_? What?! Who are you?" Amelia's jaw dropped and she sat down next to Belle, who placed her legs in Amelia's lap. "I know I'm not one to talk, but I really don't condone social suicide. Don't follow in my footsteps."

"It's not as bad as it sounds! We just do practice problems and every few weeks we go to a competition and get free cookies. I mean, yeah everyone stares at me because I have boobs, but it's not all _that _bad."

Amelia frowned. Belle was incredibly smart, but she'd always been more interested in her biology, anatomy, and genetics classes. Belle wanted desperately to be a doctor, and Amelia had all the confidence that she would end up as one. However, she'd needed tutoring in math last semester and had constantly informed Amelia about the depth of her dislike for the subject. "I'm just confused because you don't like math."

"I have friends who like math."

"No," Amelia shook her head, "you don't. And don't try to tell me the quarterback of the football team is secretly a mathematical genius. I know his brother. Genetics are not in his favor."

"Fine." Belle's face flushed a deep red. "I guess that I, well, maybe, I might _want _to have friends that like math."

Amelia eyed the younger girl, whose large brown eyes had become fixed on the small tear in her jeans. "Friends," she asked carefully, "or _friend_? Isabelle Vega, is this about a _boy_?"

Belle shook her head wildly, but never looked up. Her ears started getting red.

"It is! You have a crush!" Amelia shoved Belle's shoulder. "Go on, who is he?"

"Do you think I'm crazy?! No, I'm not telling you!" Belle hugged a throw pillow to her face to hide her blushing. "Especially not after what happened last time!"

Amelia gazed up at the ceiling. "I can assure you I have no idea what you're talking about."

Belle gave her an incredulous look, and her eyebrows disappeared up behind her bangs. "You threatened my _friend _who asked me to homecoming. While polishing a _gun_."

"I feel like your father would have been okay with that."

"Yeah, except you're not my dad. Aren't you supposed to help me?"

"Not when they have ulterior motives," she shook her head.

Belle groaned and chucked the pillow at Amelia's head. "You're crazy!"

"Hey," Amelia warned as she snatched the pillow out of the air and dropped it to the floor. "Consider yourself lucky. I could be worse, I could volunteer to chaperone."

All the color drained from her face. "Please don't."

"I will if I have to." Amelia sighed and glanced over her shoulder at the clock. "Enough about me," she insisted. "Tell me about this boy. How'd you meet him?"

"He's in my genetics class." Belle shrugged and tried to remain casual, but Amelia could still see the dreamy expression on her face. "I don't know, I don't think he notices me. I doubt he knows I exist."

"Now that can't be true, haven't you talked to him?" Amelia may have never been a love-struck teenager, but she knew enough to know that _talking _was usually a necessity in any normal relationship.

"Eh, here and there. He's kind of serious and mostly keeps to himself. But he's _so _nice. Like, unbelievably."

"So he's the tall, dark, handsome, and mysterious type?"

The color crept back up to Belle's face and she nodded. "He's so smart, Amelia, you should see him in class it's amazing. He's at the top of our class, well, except for me. He's running for class president and I just know he's going to get it because everyone likes him and he'd be so good at it because he stands up for people who are too shy to stand up for themselves. You know how I envy that. He's perfect. It's scary, really."

Amelia had trouble catching up with Belle's quick, jumbled speech for a moment. "You seem to really like this guy. Why don't you talk to him?"

"I'm scared!"

"What's he going to do, punch you in the face? I thought you said he was nice?" Amelia made a mental note to cross check the class list of people in Belle's genetics class that were also mathletes. Unfortunately, there would probably be a lot of overlap. _Nerds._

"He _is, _it's just," Belle paused and glanced down at her hands again. "I don't know. How was your charity thing?"

Amelia shrugged. "Boring, as expected. James was on edge all night."

The younger girl frowned. "What do you mean _on edge_?"

"He was nervous, he had too much to drink, we got in an argument—it's really not that big of a deal I promise."

"You know I don't like him." Belle crossed her arms across her chest. "He's just like his father, you know, and I don't think I have to remind you that I'm like ninety-nine percent certain that his dad is the one who murdered my father and dumped his body in the river."

"You might be right about his father, but you're wrong about James." Amelia found herself feeling oddly defensive of him and had to remind herself to take a deep breath. "And even if you were right, I'm a big girl and I can handle myself. Don't worry about me."

"I wouldn't _have _to if you weren't dating an asshole claiming that it's good for your _business, _or disappearing for days at a time without any explanation."

"Firstly, I don't have to justify my actions to a high-schooler. Secondly, James and I are complicated, and it _is _good for my business. I know how you feel about him, and trust me I take that into account. However, if James is the monster you make him out to be because of his father, what does that make me? Huh?"

Belle's jaw dropped. "I didn't mean that, you know I didn't!"

"I know," Amelia smiled weakly. "At any rate, I don't think you're fully off the hook. Care to tell me again why you're just _so _nervous to talk to this boy? And don't try to change the subject this time."

"Our friends don't really like each other all that much," she mumbled, rubbing her neck sheepishly.

"Your friends? That's it? Screw them!"

"Well, see," Belle bit her lip and paused for a moment, then continued, "the problem isn't really that any old friend hates his, see, it's kind of the fact that I know _you _hate his friends."

That was when Amelia's stomach dropped, because she knew _exactly _who Belle's mysterious little crush was, and she wasn't happy about it. Not one bit.


	9. Chapter 9

Dick had been furious with his mentor many times in his life, but very few times had he been _this _angry. In fact, the last time he has been this upset, it had resulted in him moving out of the manor permanently and giving up the title of Robin.

It surprised him that he was still capable of such anger given his current stress level. He'd felt numb for quite some time. It was almost liberating.

Almost.

He slammed the envelope full of photographs onto Bruce's desk, his heart pounding in his ears. Bruce, who had been casually reading the comics section of the newspaper and drinking a protein shake, frowned at the abrupt intrusion and placed the paper down gently. "Problem, Richard?"

_Richard_. He only ever used Dick's full name when he was angry or condescending. Right now he was leaning toward the second option. "Why are you having lunch meetings with Amelia?"

Bruce frowned. "I don't know-"

_Deny, deny, deny. _Dick ripped open the envelope and placed the photos down on the table. Every few months they would meet, periodically, like clockwork. However, he hadn't been able to find any sort of financial interactions between the two companies. "What are you up to?"

"Simple business. I do have an alternative life I need to maintain, you know."

"Bull shit," Dick growled. "You know she works with LexCorp and you're trying to use her as a door to get to Luthor without her knowing. What, did you plant a bug on her or something?" The last thing Dick needed was for Bruce to dig up anything about Amelia's alternative life. He would probably rally up the Justice League and have her sent to Arkham like any other ordinary villain. Or, worse, accidentally tip off Luthor and unwittingly get Amelia killed.

No, the more Bruce stayed away from her the better. She wasn't in the clear until Dick could figure out some way to get her out of the mess she was involved in. While dealing with all the rest of the crap he had to deal with.

He should not be spending his rare day off trying to trace Amelia VanAlstyne's footsteps back to the source of her current troubles. She wasn't being particularly helpful, either. It was almost like she _wanted _to break into the Watchtower, though he knew that couldn't be right.

"Leave her alone. I'm not kidding, Bruce. Leave my friends alone."

Bruce gritted his teeth. "I know you're trying to help, believe me I do. However, you have to realize that the more time you spend in pursuit of this stupid girl the more danger you're putting yourself and her in." He neatened the stack of photographs and went through them slowly, inspecting each one carefully. "Yes, I may be using her because of her pathetic little dealings with Luthor, if you can even call what little business it is that. But I'm doing so as Bruce Wayne. These photographs, how did you acquire them? What would Lex do if he found out that his partner has a trail that leads him directly to the Justice League?" Bruce gave him a long, hard look. "Dick, you're going to get her killed over nothing. You need to stop."

Dick didn't quite know what to say, mostly because he considered himself untraceable. But, what if someone could actually trace him? It wouldn't be the weirdest thing that had happened in the past few weeks. After all, someone had managed to expertly hack the Watchtower. Prior to seeing it happen with his own eyes, he would have considered that impossible also.

Lately he was just being provided with more and more evidence pointing to the conclusion that he wasn't as capable as he thought he was. He was slipping, getting sloppy. He was spread too thin.

But could someone really _die _because of that?

Bruce must have noticed the shocked look on his face because he continued, his expression somewhat softer despite his harsh words, "You're not friends, Dick. I know you want to be, but you're not. You have plenty of other people who care about you, and it would do you good to try to devote some of this attention to them. When was the last time you spoke to Wally? Don't put yourself through this; learn to give up on a lost cause."

He was wrong, right? Besides, even if he was, did it really matter? Even if they weren't friends, that didn't make Amelia any less deserving of help, which he owed to her.

His chin jutted out stubbornly. "I thought we didn't believe in lost causes. Isn't that what we do?" Dick shoved his fists in his pockets and shrugged. "Just leave her alone, okay?"

Bruce sighed. "Whatever you say, Richard."

He was angry this time. Dick paused and rubbed a bruise on his arm he'd gotten the other night sparring with Barbra, not really sure what to say. He was giving in, that easy?

Whatever, he'd take it.

"Dick?" Tim's asked from behind him, surprised. "Haven't seen you here in a while."

"Yeah," he said, probably a little more energetically than he felt. With one last look at Bruce, he turned and tousled Tim's gelled hair. He was still dressed in his school uniform, even though it was pretty late. "Thought I'd come for a visit. How's your dad?"

Tim frowned and turned his gaze to the floor. "He's alright, I guess. He doesn't know I'm here, actually."

That probably wasn't the best topic to bring up. Dick swallowed. It had been the only thing he could think of on short notice. He put a hand on Tim's shoulder. "It'll all be okay, kid."

Tim shrugged and offered a clearly half-hearted smile. "I hope so."

"It always is." Dick glanced at the clock. "I hate to run," he called, half way out the door, "but I'll catch you later. Come over some time, alright? Don't be a stranger."

He really ought to follow his own advice sometime.

This was probably the worst day off ever in the history of days off. Amelia sure had a knack of making those who cared about her work around the clock just to make sure she was in one piece. He couldn't help but feel that he was picking up the slack left behind by that old bodyguard of hers. The two of them had seemed oddly close, which just made his sudden departure all the more strange.

Charfield probably wouldn't have let her do any of the stupid shit she was doing now.

Speaking of the girl's stupid shit, he was running late. She was hosting a huge charity party on her boat for her oaf boyfriend's fraternity. One of those ugly Christmas sweater deals, according to the invitation he'd stolen from someone else. The premise was that the girls would donate whatever they would have spent on a nice dress and come instead in the tackiest sweater they could find.

He hadn't actually been invited, but he'd been able to gather some mostly-reliable information indicating that a highly influential, international arms dealer would also be attending. Something told him the whole party was a cover.

It didn't take Dick long to change and get ready, though he had to admit that it did feel a bit strange. The sweater itched and he couldn't quite stop staring at himself in the mirror. Not because he was full of himself, but there was just something… off. He ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh.

This is why he needed days off. Too much Nightwing, too little Dick Grayson. Even his own name was starting to sound foreign on his tongue.

Of course, the days off would be more beneficial if he didn't have to spend them working.

Sneaking onto the boat was easier than he thought it would be. Everyone was already drunk, so he was able to just walk in with a group of stumbling girls.

One, a blonde, nearly fell over onto her face. Dick caught her by the arm and pulled her upright. "Are you alright?"

"I'm _fine_," she slurred in a light Southern accent. "Do I even know you? I don't think I've seen you around here before."

She didn't give Dick an opportunity to answer, because the lights dimmed and the music started blaring. The bass shook the entire boat, he could feel it vibrating up through his shoes. The girl's eyes lit up excitedly in the glow of the red and green light show. "Let's go dance!" She grabbed the front of his sweater in her fist and dragged him into the middle of a large group of his drunken, grinding peers.

The girl wrapped her arms around his shoulders and started dancing, pressing her body tightly against his. He had to admit, she was very pretty.

_And very drunk, _he reminded himself and found himself sighing of relief when the song ended and the music cut off completely.

"Hey, bitches, listen here!"

Everyone's attention turned over to where the DJ was set up. Amelia had stolen his microphone and was shouting into it. James stood behind her with his hands on her hips, catching her when she would wobble on her heels. She wore what probably was one of his ties around her neck and in her free hand clutched a half-empty bottle of expensive-looking liquor, but he was too far away to see exactly what it was.

"I spent more on booze for this fucking party than most of you will make in a year," she slurred. She was a good actress, Dick had to admit, but she'd fooled him once already. He wasn't about to be fooled again. He suspected that she was completely sober.

"So," she continued, "you better have a good time. Drink up, sluts. And don't forget to donate!"

James pulled her away from the microphone and the music started again, louder this time. Dick watched her disappear into the crowed and wondered for a moment if James even realized she wasn't drunk, because he certainly didn't act like it. He practically carried her off the platform. Surely he would have smelled it on her breath? Tasted it in her kisses?

He was pulled back into reality when the blonde started kissing his neck aggressively. To be honest, he'd forgotten he'd even been dancing with her.

"This isn't right," he started with a grimace, but she obviously couldn't hear him. He was about to physically remove her when someone tapped his shoulder.

Dick turned, thankful for the distraction.

Before him stood Amelia, with an eerily pleasant smile on her features. It was like she was enjoying a private joke at his expense. He didn't even know how she'd noticed him in the mob of people. Just like he'd suspected, she was totally sober. She stood with all the grace one with a modeling background should possess. "I hate to interrupt, but may I cut in?"

"No, of course not," he said immediately.

The girl he had been dancing with rolled her eyes at him. "Are you fucking kidding me?" She huffed and turned away, quickly getting lost in all the people.

Dick frowned as Amelia wrapped her arms up around his neck and swayed slowly to a beat that didn't match the rhythm of the song. She was still smiling. He noticed that she was wearing the same shade of lipstick she had been last time they'd seen each other. "What are you so happy about?"

Amelia shrugged. "You have a hickey, that's all."

He was thankful for the dim lighting, because he could feel his face heat up. He felt like he was in middle school all over again.

"I didn't know this was your scene. Is this what do you do on your days off, Grayson? Crash college parties and seduce sorority sisters with your charm?"

He didn't like her accusatory tone. Of course that's not what he did in his free time, especially when he spent most of his free time trying to see what stupid plan _she _was concocting. He laughed, despite the bitter taste in his mouth. "You think I'm charming? That's sweet."

"Of course, what I really find charming is your complete disregard for my wishes and the fact that you keep _stalking _me."

"I wouldn't have to _stalk _you, my dear, if you wouldn't break into places you shouldn't and steal things that don't belong to you."

"Stealing? Me? I don't know what you're talking about."

Dick couldn't help but laugh. "Of course you don't. What did you end up taking, anyway?"

"Like I'd tell you." She rolled her eyes at him. The hand that rested on the back of his neck tightened dangerously and pulled him closer. "If your intent was to break into my ship and arrest my little friend, I'm sorry to say you're going to be sorely disappointed," she hissed against his ear. Chills ran down his spine.

"I'm appalled. What kind of a guest do you think I am? I don't even have a pair of handcuffs on me."

"Yeah?" her eyes briefly flickered downward. "And how willing are you to be frisked? Because I think you're exactly the kind of ass who would crash a party to arrest my _real _guests. But, as I said, it won't work."

"Why are you so sure of that?"

"I have my reasons," she said cryptically. She pursed her lips and her eyes darted around wildly, like she was making sure no one was listening. "Listen, Dick, you need to get out of here. Can I be honest with you?"

He frowned and fought the urge to look over his shoulder. "Yes."

"I don't want to do this anymore," she confessed so quietly he could barely hear over the music. "I'm in trouble."

"All you have to do is _let _me help you."

She looked genuinely surprised. "You'd do that? For me?"

His hands tightened around her waist. "Of course."

With no notice, she pulled him down and pressed her lips against his.

In hindsight, he realized that he probably should have known that something was up. But he didn't. He didn't know what was happening or why, but he wasn't one to complain about being kissed by a beautiful woman. Especially not this particular one.

That was, until he started feeling lightheaded. He pushed her away and reeled back, stunned. "You drugged me!"

Amelia only stared at him breathlessly and wiped the smeared lipstick off her mouth with the back of her hand. Her gaze slid down to his lips, and for a moment, she looked horrified. She snapped out of it within a second, and the act was on again. "Oh happy day!" she exclaimed with an exaggerated Southern drawl, "The big, strong man is here to save little 'ole me!"

His knees buckled and he thought he would fall, but she caught him and half-dragged him over to the side of the room and sat him down in a chair. She was stronger than she used to be. He tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn't open. His vision started to blur.

"The effects should only last about an hour," she said in his ear. "Good night, Richard. Get some rest."

* * *

Amelia stormed into the engine room and tossed the briefcase Lex had given to her down on the ground. It slid across the polished floor until it hit a chrome piece of equipment.

Time to get this over with. She would have an angry Leaguer to deal with within moments and she wasn't trying to deal with two people who would like to see her suffer at once.

A middle-aged gentleman sat across from her in a wooden chair, where he was tied up. One of Lex's cronies he'd loaned her held a gun to his head.

"You Americans don't know much about hospitality, do you?" the man joked in a heavy Russian accent.

She scratched at her mask and sat down in a chair placed opposite him. "I know this seems harsh, but my client doesn't believe in risk. I hope you understand."

"As long as you understand that I'm going to kill you once you let me go."

"You can certainly try, I won't hold it against you." Amelia laughed. "Though I do feel obligated to inform you that as of ten minutes ago if I were to shoot you and dump your body, it would take a few months before it washed up on the shores of Africa. If it wasn't eaten by sharks or dragged to the bottom of the Ocean first."

The man swallowed.

Amelia pulled the gun out of its holster on her thigh with a snap. "So let's try to make this as easy as possible, because this is a really pretty floor and I hate to dirty it up. Do you have the missile codes?"

She didn't know why the hell Lex needed missile codes, but she hadn't been about to question him when he'd angrily ordered her to organize a meeting with this man a few weeks ago. She generally tried not to question him too much and much rather preferred to just do as he said without question.

The Russian stared her down for a moment, then sighed and nodded. "My pocket," he said.

Lex's boy was about to reach into the pocket when Amelia lifted a hand to stop him. "If you poison my lackey I'm going to have to hurt you. Not because I'm particularly fond of him, you understand, but out of principle."

"There's no poison, only paper."

Amelia wasn't particularly convinced, but gave the go-ahead anyway. He reached into the Russian's pocket and produced a small notebook, which he tossed to Amelia. She looked through it and frowned. It was all in Russian, which Lex would probably be able to translate, but there was no way to know if she'd been tricked until after she got it to him.

"I tracked you down easily enough the first time, good sir, so keep that in mind if you're trying to cross my client. I will find you, I will get the information the hard way, and then I will kill you. And maybe your family because jet lag makes me cranky." She motioned toward the briefcase on the floor. "On a more pleasant note, however, you may have whatever is in that case along with your life as a gesture of my client's generosity. Now," she stood, "if you don't mind, I have a party to get back to."

She left quickly enough, leaving Lex's man to clean up and do whatever it was that Lex wanted him to do with the Russian. She never really received the details after meetings were over, she just organized them and got what she needed.

As for the case, Amelia wasn't quite sure what was in it. Lex had been known to simply poison informants after with the contents of his "gifts", but he was also known for being very generous to those who pleased him. She made a great deal of money for her services, for example, not that she needed it. He thought a good reputation encouraged cooperation. He would probably keep the Russian alive just in case he _was _crossing them.

Lex wasn't actually that bad of a guy, to be honest. He would just do what he had to in order to obtain his goals, which is what made him a threat. He had been responsible for far more than one too many of Grayson's injuries to make him an ally, no matter how much she hated Bruce.

She wasn't in the business of punishing criminals and saving the weak, but she figured if she could manage to keep Dick in one piece for as long as possible it might make up for some of her more poorly planned decisions in the karma department. She had a lot to make up for.

She slipped out the window and climbed up to the bathroom where she had changed.

Without warning, the lights switched on.

Amelia whirled around to see Dick leaning up against the sink. He rubbed water off of the corner of his mouth. It wasn't until then that she noticed how the room reeked of vomit.

"You know," he said, his voice hoarse, "that's not the first time I've been poisoned, and it certainly hasn't been the worst."

Her body froze, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from the red stains around his mouth from her lipstick. She tried to shift her gaze up to his face, but it was hard to look away. His jaw was hard-set. He was angry. "Dick, I…" she shifted her weight from one foot to another. If he had just left her alone and minded his own business, she never would have had to hurt him. What was she supposed to say, that she could explain? Of course she couldn't.

He rolled his eyes. "Don't waste your breath. Bruce was right, you are a waste, aren't you?"

Amelia had to bite her lip to keep herself from shouting _no_. It was hard to restrain herself, especially when the words stung more than she'd expected them to. They resonated in the back of her head.

He was the only one who had never given up on her, and now there was a selfish part of her that wanted to make him take it back. But this is what she wanted, she'd asked for it. This was her goal. If he gave up, he'd stop getting involved in aspects of her life that he shouldn't.

Her lips curled. "What have I been telling you all along, sweetheart?" she shrugged with a smile. However, she couldn't keep up the act when he stumbled again and nearly hit his head on the edge of the sink. Her stomach dropped as she rushed forward to catch him, sitting him down on the toilet seat. She started to wonder how much poison she'd managed to get in his system and where the closest place was that she'd stashed the antidote. "Are you alright?"

He just stared at her for a moment, his eyes flickering over her face until she noticed that now _he _was the one with the vice grip on _her_ wrists. He threw his head back and laughed. "You're not the only one who can act, VanAlstyne. I've been living a double life for far longer than you have, you might even say I'm a natural performer."

_Shit. _Amelia tried to shake her wrists free. When his grip didn't loosen, the panic started to set in. "What are you doing, Dick?"

"Well," he mused, "first you're going to tell me where you're keeping the criminal. Then we're going to have a little chat, okay? By the time I'm done with you, you're going to be a model citizen."

She frowned. _Stupid._ Dick just couldn't mind his own business, and his hero complex was getting out of control. What happened to the kid with the video games? She started to think that he was long gone in favor of a Bruce 2.0. Her fingers itched to just smack him right in the jaw. "I don't think so."

He stood and pushed her up hard against the far wall. Not hard, but enough to knock some of the wind out of her. "Really?" he asked, towering over her. "You and I aren't exactly on the best terms right now, and I kind of feel like you owe me."

Amelia winced and shut her eyes. Everything was falling apart around her. She needed to fix that, but she really didn't want to hurt him. Especially not after she'd poisoned him, his body probably wouldn't be able to handle it given all the other stresses he regularly put under. However, he gave her no choice. She had to turn off the part of her that actually gave a damn.

She took a deep breath, and found it wasn't actually all that hard.

With a few sudden twists, she managed to lock her legs tightly around his shoulders, then threw her body to the ground to make him fall with a loud _thud_. She breathed a silent sigh of relief, knowing that she would never have been able to pull such a stunt had he been totally sober.

She pinned his arms to his sides with her legs and pulled her gun from it holster. She placed it against his head. "I don't owe you shit. The next time you try to touch me, Grayson," she warned, "I will kill you. I do not need help. I do not want to be _fixed_. If you ever get in my way again, I will shoot you in the head. Now, you're going to leave so I can get changed and we are never going to speak again, understand?"

His only response was a groan. In his defense, she _had _slammed his head against the ground pretty hard. She took it as a positive.

"Good," she said.

Amelia could hear a key turning in the lock, and suddenly the door was open. James walked in and glanced down, a troubled frown etching itself deep into his features. She must have taken longer than she thought, he was probably worried that something had gone wrong. "What's going on?"

Nothing ever went well for her. James would want her to hurt Dick, maybe even kill him. She swallowed. "I was just teaching little Richard that he really ought to stop underestimating women. After all, it's the twenty-first century. Right, sweetie?" She stood and yanked Dick to his feet, shoving him out the door and shutting it behind him before James could suggest otherwise.

Her heart was pounding. That was too close.

"You don't think he could have recognized you, do you?" James asked, carefully removing the mask from her face and placing it on the counter.

"No," Amelia shook her head. "He's way too drunk. Honestly, I doubt he'll remember. He nearly puked on me when he burst in, barely made it to the toilet."

His brow furrowed. "Is that a risk you want to take?"

"We used to be friends. I feel like I owe him that much. Besides, I think Bruce would probably notice that his pride and joy had gone missing." She grimaced. "Along with all fifty or so of his little girlfriends," she added with no small amount of distain.

He responded by pulling her tightly against him. "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I'm right." He smelled strongly of cigarettes. He only ever smoked anymore when he was nervous.

"You know, _my_ reputation is almost nothing compared to his," he mused, playing with the zipper on the back of her suit. "Hell, I'm practically a saint compared to him."

"I feel like any scenario that puts the words 'James Moretti' and 'saint like' in the same sentence is fundamentally flawed."

"That's rude, I volunteer in homeless shelters."

Amelia rolled her eyes and gave him a light shove. "Okay, Mother Theresa, time to go and let me get dressed."

His eyebrows raised and the pout on his face was absolutely juvenile. "I said _practically _a saint for a reason," he explained, "My favorite thing about the suit is taking it off after."

She promptly shoved him out the door. "Goodbye, James."


	10. Chapter 10

Amelia ran the water and leaned up against the sink. She stared herself square in the eye and took a deep, steady breath. She would find a way out of this. She would find a way to survive, she always did. _Get a grip._

The sound of the water soothed her a bit. Her thoughts drifted to the way James had caressed her cheek softly before she left this morning, whispering in her ear about how stressed she looked and how she ought to take a break from everything. His breath had been warm against her face and smelled of those cheap cigarettes he'd been smoking more frequently. It wasn't the first time he'd implored her to stop, but he'd been getting more insistent about it lately. She wasn't positive, because he'd never said anything, but she was pretty sure it was because she was talking in her sleep again. The nightmares would usually come back when she was stressed. She just hoped she wouldn't say anything she wasn't supposed to. It was only a matter of time before James found out about everything, she'd known that all along. She just couldn't figure out a nice way to say, 'By the way, I'm dating you just so I can spy on your dad', and she'd seen him beat his friends half to death for lies half as bad as the ones she'd told him.

James was right, though. He was, sometimes. Everything had been going so right for so long that she'd gotten cocky. She'd imagined herself a major player in the war between the Light and the Justice League. Boy, had she been wrong. She wasn't a player, she was barely even a pawn. She was just a little girl in a tacky suit who ended up strangling herself in her own web of lies.

He had her personality pegged more than she realized. Her arrogance and ego had certainly gotten her into a large amount of trouble. She'd strode into Lex's office this morning with all the confidence in the world, ready to give him the missile codes he so desired. She could have given him fake ones, but she decided that Bruce didn't deserve that kind of help from her end, not after all the stunts he'd pulled. She'd figured he needed a lesson on how to properly treat a lady. She'd interrupted his meeting with a few Chinese businessmen, forcing him to apologize profusely in a language she didn't understand. They'd cast her some pretty dirty looks, indicating that Lex was probably lying through his teeth and calling her his crazy heroin-addict niece or something. She took that moment to briefly recall the first time she'd met Richard, he was looking for a Chinese textbook. She'd thought he was just a nerd at the time, but the language was more useful than she'd ever imagined.

After a few clever little quips on her part she'd eventually handed him the codes and was fully prepared to go about her business when Lex decided to reward her servitude with a brief bit of confidential information about some data he'd received from the Project Eden files. He'd been so giddy about it, too. His tone was lofty, as it often was. He thought himself to be better than her. Perhaps he was. "You're the only one I've told, dear," he'd said, "you should feel honored. Knowledge is power, you know." After all, she liked to be kept involved. She was quickly becoming to regret that decision. Honored wasn't quite how she felt.

He then informed her that he'd somehow managed to use some of the data in the file to track down three different containers on three separate ships, Amelia's ships no less, that he believed could be linked to the Justice League. Needless to say, he'd concocted a grand scheme to steal said containers and obtain whatever was inside of them.

The problem was, according to Bruce, there was nothing in the Project Eden files. They were fake. They were simply a virus meant to provide the Justice League with information about the shadier side of Luthor's business while simultaneously forcing her compliance.

So that was how she found herself in the bathroom, trying to gather herself before she said something stupid.

How the hell had she wound up here? Her heart was in her throat and her chest felt like there was someone sitting on it. She regretted getting out of bed that morning. She told herself to breathe.

She could ignore the situation entirely and let Lex get the containers, the Justice League be damned. After all, she owed Bruce nothing. He hadn't told her anything about what was in Project Eden. In fact, he'd even lied to her. She should let him suffer. He deserved it.

But that would also be dangerous for everyone Bruce had grown to rely on, considering he rarely did his own work anymore. She didn't have a problem with other members of the League. In fact, she quite liked a few of them.

It would also probably mean the deaths of everyone aboard the ships she owned. That wouldn't be good for her financially or morally; she wasn't trying to get anyone else killed on her account. That was her crew, her responsibility.

On the other hand, she could tell Bruce, save everyone aboard the ship, and let everyone get away happy but Lex. However, then it would also be glaringly obvious that there was a rat in Luthor's chain of command. It would also be obvious that _she _was that rat, as she was the only one he'd told about the plan with questionable loyalty. He had leverage on everyone else under his command.

This would lead Lex to trace through all the other minor operations of his that she'd been able to sabotage. He would trace the web back to the very center: her. It would lead to a very unhappy homicidal billionaire demanding her head. It would also render her completely useless.

The kicker was that she really didn't give a damn about furthering the League's agenda. The Justice League was a brute and she didn't like them any more than she liked the Light. She agreed with the principles the League stood for, of course, but there was something about the way they forced compliance that didn't sit well.

What had she told herself when she first started tipping Bruce off? That she was only in this to protect her friend, clean up her karma, right? It figured that the onetime she tried to do something good, it ended up like _this._

She could hear heeled feet clicking toward the bathroom door and immediately shut off the water. She had just enough time to swallow her emotions before Lex's assistant Mercy appeared at the door, her back straight and arms clasped in front of her. "Are you alright, ma'am? Mr. Luthor saw that you hadn't left in the security cam and wanted me to check on you."

Amelia glanced down at the blonde's hands, which could supposedly turn into guns. Selina had told her that Mercy was a cyborg, a human weapon, but she'd never personally seen her in action. She almost didn't believe it, and regarded the girl with guarded curiosity. "I'm fine, Mercy, thank you. Just feeling a bit under the weather." She smiled. "And you can tell Mr. Luthor that if he decides to scour the bathroom for DNA now he's going to be disappointed."

"I'll pass the message along, ma'am. Would you like me to escort you out?"

"I think I can make it there myself, thanks." Amelia would rather spend as little time as possible with the deadly cyborg.

On the ride back to Gotham, Amelia phoned Bruce, cursing herself as she did it. She wished Lex had just never told her, because she really had no choice now. What was she supposed to do, condemn the crew to death? She knew how Lex worked too well. He would send in a small team on some sort of aircraft or perhaps submarine. They would quickly and efficiently steal the container, eliminate all possible witnesses, and destroy all the evidence. Possibly steal the contents of a few more containers to make it look like a pirate raid, as one container missing appeared suspicious. After all, that was what she would do, and she had been on the offensive end of Luthor's wrath far too many times to be fooled by his supposedly merciful nature. He would slaughter everyone onboard.

Now was not the best time to be developing a conscience, but she _did _had a lot to make up for. Nevertheless, part of her was hoping that Bruce would decide she was the priority and not go after Lex's men.

"Hello, Miss VanAlstyne?" Bruce answered. The inflexion in his tone clearly indicated that he was confused. They hadn't exactly parted on good terms last time they'd met.

Amelia pursed her lips. "Bruce, _darling_. We need to talk."

"I'm afraid I'm unavailable, my apologizes. If you would like to make an appointment with my secretary—"

"_Immediately_," she hissed. "I don't know who you think you are but I am most certainly not talking to your god damned secretary. Now I'm ten minutes from the manor and I fully expect you to be there or there will be extremely dire consequences. Am I clear?"

"Well, _dear_," Bruce growled the term of endearment. Apparently he wasn't overly fond of her, either. "It seems that our interactions are being monitored and seeing as I would rather not aggravate an already tense relationship, I'm going to have to decline."

Monitored? Amelia sat puzzled for a moment before she realized that Bruce had to have meant Dick. Surely he would never allow her to go see Lex knowing that he was aware that she was a spy, right?

Damn it, Richard.

This boy would be the end of her. She took a calming breath and counted to ten. "To be quite frank, our being monitored will soon be of little consequence. ETA 9 minutes. Goodbye."

Amelia pulled up the collar of her black trench coat against the wind as she made the short walk up the stairs of Wayne Manor. She hadn't been here in how long? Three years almost down to the exact date. It was eerie. She always found herself running up the steps of the Manor whenever she was in trouble, she realized with a frown.

Before she had a chance to knock, Alfred opened the door for her. "I have not seen you in quite some time, Miss VanAlstyne. Please, come inside. Would you like for me to take your coat?"

"Of course, Alfred," she said, shrugging off her coat and handing it to him. "Thank you."

Alfred took her to where Bruce was sitting behind a desk, his brow furrowed. "Now, what is it that you so desperately needed to tell me that you barged into my home?"

The furrow in his brow only increased as Amelia informed him of what had occurred earlier that day. He pulled out a pad and started scribbling down notes. From what Amelia could see it was in some cypher that he had apparently memorized, because she certainly couldn't recognize the strings of letters and numbers he placed together. He was more paranoid than she thought. Probably as paranoid as Lex.

Is this what being at the top did to you? Deteriorated your mental state?

_Well thank _god _I'm not at the top, _she thought to herself with mild sarcasm. It was like witnessing the actions of a mental patient. She shifted in her seat, but couldn't look away. She carefully inspected Bruce as she never had before, and found that he had a few graying hairs mixed in his dark locks. He had dyed them, but they were visible at the very roots. There were bags under his eyes and she could see the faint beginnings of wrinkles in the corners of them.

Although he was still fit, Bruce was an aging man.

What made her more uncomfortable was the fact that Richard was following very closely in his footsteps.

After murmuring to himself for a few moments, Bruce gathered himself and gazed back up at her. He seemed calm again. "Thank you for notifying me, Miss VanAlstyne."

"Amelia," she corrected.

Bruce ignored her and stared her like he expected her to leave or something.

"So," she asked, "what do you plan on doing about it?"

"I think you'll understand that given your current state as a spy I would rather not divulge such information in an effort to prevent being double-crossed."

Amelia actually snorted, but when she realized he wasn't kidding, a ball of fury started unfurling deep in her stomach. "I'm putting my life on the line for you. Everything I've done as of late has been for _your _good."

"And I thank you very much for your consideration, but you have also given me very little reason to trust you _as of late_."

She recalled her numerous threats against him. He had a point, but he had to know that she wouldn't double-cross him on _this_. Not something so… so… dire. "Seeing as you neglected to tell me that Project Eden was a real thing, I think you owe me something."

He frowned. "Project Eden isn't a real thing."

"Well, then what's in the containers?"

He looked exasperated. "Nothing Luthor should know about," he explained cryptically. "There is no reason he should have knowledge of these shipments. Whatever he says, he certainly did not get this information from the files I gave you."

And given that Bruce had without a doubt noticed the _other _files that were missing from the Justice Leage database—everything they'd had on her, to be exact—it meant that he probably suspected that she had double-crossed him and somehow loaded extra information onto the drive. To be honest, she'd barely been able to find the information on herself. She never would have been able to find any sort of pertinent information without direction, though it did explain his extreme paranoia where she was concerned.

"I didn't—"

"The truth will come to light soon enough," he interrupted. He stood and dwarfed her. "Good day, Miss VanAlstyne."

"Wait," she swallowed, "what are you going to do about me?"

He raised an eyebrow. "What exactly."

"He's going to hunt me down, interrogate, and kill me. Surely you have a plan?"

"Please understand that you are not my priority, Miss VanAlstyne. I will come up with a suitable solution to your problem when time allows."

"Are you kidding?" Amelia stood to meet his gaze. "Do you know how many assassins Lex has at his disposal? He'll find me before you decide time _allows_."

"I know fully well that Luthor has numerous assassins at his disposal," he said with a pointedly. "And when time allows, I will assure to it that you are relocated with an alternate identity."

"_That's _your solution? You might as well bypass witness protection and hand me straight to Luthor with a big red bow."

"I'm considering it."

Amelia let out an annoyed hum. He was impossible. "You know you're just treating the symptoms, right? Not the disease?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Your work with the Justice League. You're not going to do any good by getting me killed. Someone else will take my place, someone worse. It's basic supply and demand. People are always going to w_ant _things the League doesn't approve of so there will always be a _market_ for those things. To kill the market you would need to change human nature and you can't just _fix_ human nature to your liking. Besides, who are _you _to tell anyone how to live their life? Like you know any better! The only person who's ever seen the ugly parts of you and stuck around is Alfred, and he's practically your parent! What you're doing isn't working; it's never going to work."

Bruce sighed. "I'm not going to get into a debate on ethics with you, Miss VanAlstyne. _Goodbye._"

With another frustrated growl Amelia clenched her fists and stormed out of Bruce's office. Within moments she was on the phone with Selina, formulating a plan in the back of her mind.

"Amelia? What's wrong?" the older woman's voice was full of some brand of concern that Amelia had never heard from her before. Amelia checked herself and tried to make her tone less… _whiny_.

She clenched the steering wheel tightly with her gloved hand. She relayed the information to Selina, who took it in without asking any questions. "I can't do this," Amelia stressed as she finished. "I kind of just hoped that this part of my life would just go away when I was done with it. I never imagined it ending like _this_. I can't go back to my old life. I'll be trapped again."

"Until we get you a new costume and voice manipulator."

She hadn't thought of that. It calmed her a little.

She came up to a sudden stop sign and had to slam on her breaks when she realized something she'd forgotten before in her haste. "_Shit!_"

"What? Are you driving? What's going on?" The concern was returning, she'd probably heard the squeal of her tires.

"Yes, but I just realized… James knows about me. When Lex puts out a hit on the woman in black, he'll know that's me."

"He _what_?!"

Amelia wanted to roll her eyes, but she felt too heavy and exhausted to do so. "It's not like I could hide it from him. We're together all the time, as per your request. He just noticed."

She didn't know the details about when this would happen, but very soon James would know about her status as a mole. He was smarter than many gave him credit for, he would easily put two-and-two together and realize that she had been tricking more than just Lex. The back of her eyes prickled and she was overcome with some emotion she couldn't quite place. It wasn't fear or regret, it was just dark. Like she was carrying around her own little storm cloud as the life she had built so carefully fell to pieces around her.

"Well," Selina sounded resigned, "let's just hope that you have him wound around your finger tight enough to keep his mouth shut."

The hope provided Amelia with very little optimism. However, she did realize a way that she could make it out of this intact.

She just wondered if she was digging herself in too deep, and how many more boundaries she had left to cross before she truly became the villain Bruce made her out to be.


	11. Chapter 11

It was no secret that James' father didn't like Amelia nearly as much as his son did. In fact, it was common knowledge that he hated her. Therefore, it didn't faze her in the least when he brought an armed guard to lunch with him. He'd even insisted that they eat at his favorite restaurant, a shoddy bar and diner he owned downtown.

She'd only ever seen it in passing before. It wasn't nearly as bad as she thought it would be on the inside. It had dark red leather booths with golden furnishings and dark wooden tabletops lining the wall opposite the bar. It was old-fashioned, but at least it was clean unlike the city outside.

In the back, Amelia could spot a couple men sitting around enjoying a few drinks. One of them was wearing a pair of dark sunglasses, which at first was a bit strange considering the dim lighting, until Amelia remembered that Moretti also had his claws in a few of the local cops. He was probably just trying not to get caught. The man had an arm around a small, blonde girl who Amelia recognized to be Selina's little friend who didn't like her very much. The cop would soon find his wallet and watch missing, no doubt. She tried not to let her eyes linger too long.

She approached the table Moretti was lounging at with his lips tugged low and furrowed brow. He wasn't happy to be here. To be honest, neither was she. James looked very much like his father, almost to the point where they could pass as brothers. They had the same long, straight nose that would look out of place if it wasn't offset by their wide-set jaw and high cheekbones. Their golden hair was nearly identical, except that half of Moretti's locks had turned white with age.

Amelia had only inherited her height and too-close-together dull grey eyes from her mother. Genetics were funny that way. She supposed she must look like her father, but seeing as not even her mother knew who he was, Amelia would ever be certain.

Felix appeared beside her and followed her into the booth. He was uncomfortable. His back was stiff as a board and his right arm was tense. He was ready to grab for a gun any second. Too bad Moretti's men had taken them from him at the door.

It phased her very little, she'd see the same look from Felix dozens of times ever since she was thirteen and started going on dates—chaperoned, of course. When she got older and Charfield came back she stopped going out all together; the idea of Charfield seeing her on a date had been too mortifying. He would have made fun of the poor boy the entire way home. Her face flushed at the thought. Moretti's eyes flickered down to her cheeks for a moment.

When she sat down Moretti smiled and made a small motion with his fingers. In the reflection of his glasses, she could see the two men who were standing outside the door come in and take a seat in one of the booths. "Good afternoon, Amelia. How is my son? It seems you see him more than I do lately."

Amelia laughed. "You know, that doesn't really surprise me. I wouldn't want to see you either, if I were him. He's terrified of you." She paused for a moment and leaned in. She added in in the lowest voice she could muster, "I, however, am far from afraid. You might not want to try anything slick with your goons over there because I currently have a Glock leveled at your crotch and my influence ranges much farther than a few no-good cops from the inner city." She sat back in her seat and leaned her free arm up over the back of the booth, unsuccessfully trying to keep the smug smile from spreading across her features. "A little something I inherited from my grandfather."

If Moretti was shocked, he only showed it for a moment when he glanced angrily over at the armed guards sitting by the booth at the door. She couldn't see their reactions, but she guessed that they were now regretting not checking her for weapons as they had Felix. Her reputation as a mentally and physically fragile little girl must have preceded her. He smiled politely, though she supposed he was probably seething on the inside. "I can see you've inherited your grandfather's tact, as well."

"And you had best hope that I haven't also inherited his restraint or you may find yourself missing a few parts of your anatomy that you're particularly fond of." She cleared her throat. "So, I feel that you must have found VanAlstyne Shipping extremely helpful, if not vital, to your cause—whatever that cause may be. Am I correct in that statement?"

Moretti sat back in his chair and stared her down for a moment. The fact of the matter was that if it were not for his relationship with Amelia's grandfather, he would have no drugs, no weapons, nothing. In fact, the mob had grown so dependent on their support over the years that without it, he would have nothing. And what happens when a man who has spent his entire life clawing his way up the social ladder by means of violence suddenly finds himself weaponless and with no way to generate income? He quickly finds himself, and maybe even his family, killed and replaced. He tapped his fingers rhythmically on the tabletop. "Yes, I suppose so," he said with some hesitation.

"Then, am I also correct in assuming that if I were to just give VanAlstyne Shipping to Wayne Enterprises, you would be quite upset?"

He frowned, and after some time, nodded. "Yes."

"Then I think you'll find it very interesting to know that in the event of my untimely death I plan on giving every last thing I own to Bruce Wayne."

"So, you want… protection? From what?"

Protection. Amelia didn't like the sound of it and the word buzzed through her head like a gnat. Her lips pursed out of their own accord. "That's no concern of yours. We've scratched your back, now I think it's high time you scratch ours. Who knows, you might even find it to be worth your time."

Moretti let out a long sigh with a shrug. "What am I getting into, here? Who wants to kill you?"

She could think of hoards. "No one right now," she smiled dreamily, "but, you know, there are people out there."

"I see," he grinned like he was humoring a young, paranoid girl with too much money and too little sense. She was used to it. She'd gotten the look dozens of times before.

She sighed and stood, keeping her grip firm on the gun in her trench coat pocket. "Thank you, Mr. Moretti, I'll be leaving now." She pressed a fifty dollar bill on the table in front of him. "Have a drink or two on me."

* * *

Amelia was startled awake by the soft chiming of James' cellphone on his nightstand. She could feel him jerk his head up and turn to glance at it before trying to subtly replace his arm under her head with a pillow. Groggily, she played along, letting him think that he hadn't woken her up. Late-night phone calls weren't a new thing for him.

She felt the bed rise and a sudden burst of cold air against her back as he stood and snatched the phone, silencing it. She shivered and pulled the blankets tighter around herself. "Hello?" he asked quietly on his way to the bathroom.

She couldn't hear exactly what he was saying once he shut the door, but his usually casual tone slowly turned low and serious. The call only lasted a minute before she could hear him behind her gathering his clothes from the closet as he got dressed.

Through her eyelashes, Amelia glanced up at the clock. In blurry letters, it read 3:24 AM. She groaned and pulled the blankets tighter around her again, wishing he would just turn up the damn heat. It was too early.

Within a minute he was gone. She should follow him. Selina would want her to follow him. But it was so _early._

She gave herself a few precious moments in bed before blindly reaching over for her glasses on the nightstand. She wasn't wearing a bra, but there wasn't any time to remedy that. She scrambled to grab a pair of leggings and pull her fur-lined boots onto her feet. James' thick, University sweatshirt would have to do for the time being.

She grabbed her keys and phone and caught the next elevator down. She was able to catch him just as he was turning right out of the parking garage.

About fifteen minutes later she found herself in the dreariest part of town she'd ever seen. He pulled into an old warehouse, and Amelia made her way around the block once more before she parked about a quarter mile down the street from where he walked in. She grabbed the gun from her glove compartment and made her way down to the warehouse. There wasn't a soul around and the only noise was the distant sound of crickets.

The side door was slightly ajar and dim lighting poured out from the crack. There were a few voices, but they were far away. They were probably in the far side of the building. She widened the crack a little with her gun and peered inside. She couldn't see anyone nearby so she slinked inside, staying low so no one would see her.

She weaved her way in and out of the giant stacks of boxes and crates until she was finally able to hear what everyone was saying and see what was going on from a crack between the shelving.

A battered-looking, middle-aged man was tied to a chair. There was a deep gash just above his eyebrow, and judging from the state of his hands Amelia suspected he didn't have many fingernails left, if any at all. Bile rose in her throat. James ambled back and forth in front of him, twirling some sort of hardware around his finger.

"So," he asked as one would when talking about the weather, "you're still sticking to your story?" He fixed his tie and pushed up the wrinkled sleeves of his shirt.

"Yes," the man said weakly. "I told you, I'm not a rat."

"That's a pretty bold statement," James mused. "You know, I've looked through the books myself. We hadn't had a single failed delivery before you came along two years ago. Now we're lucky to go two weeks without the cops up our ass. Are you trying to tell me that's a coincidence? Do you think I'm stupid?"

"I didn't do anything!" He was begging now, and Amelia could see the shine of tears in his eyes. "Please, I'll help you find the rat, anything. I have a family!"

She could hear James laugh, but it wasn't lighthearted like the laugh she was used to. It was cruel and twisted her stomach into knots, especially since _she _was the one selling out to the cops every week after sneaking into his father's office and listening in on his phone calls with the bugs she'd planted. "I know. You've got pretty little wife and two kids, one on the way." With one hard swing, he punched the man in the temple with enough force to knock the chair over. "Well, let me tell you something. I hope you have life insurance, because I have a family too. And I protect my family. So you're gonna tell me the stupid son of a bitch that you've been tattling to and maybe if you're lucky I won't send little Suzie your head for Christmas."

"I didn't say anything to anyone!"

James sighed. "I'm not going to get anything out of you, am I?" He glanced back at one of his little mob friends. "I'm not getting anything out of this guy, can you believe it?"

"Please!"

Amelia's head spun. When James pulled the gun out, it was like watching a movie in slow motion. The man had done nothing wrong. Or, rather, he had done nothing to betray the Morettis. He had probably done plenty of things that were morally _wrong_, but who hadn't? He had a family. And James was going to kill him. For things that she had done.

Before she knew what she was doing, she found herself barreling out from the shadows. "James, stop!" she screamed.

It felt like being hit by a truck. To large men charged at her and knocked her down. One twisted her arm behind her back painfully, and the other held her own gun to her head. Her head spun.

James looked shocked and stared at her speechlessly for a moment. "Get your hands off of her," he growled as he marched forward grabbed her forearm roughly. He tore her from their grasp and glared at her. "What are you doing here?"

"Don't kill him, James. He hasn't done anything wrong. Please don't kill him. He has a family. If you've ever loved me just, please, don't do it. It's not worth it, baby, just don't." The words tumbled out of her mouth breathlessly like vomit, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel a bead of sweat gathering on the nape of her neck despite the cold climate.

His expression softened as he inspected her carefully. He pulled her closer and pressed a light kiss to her forehead. "Alright," he said quietly. The knot in her stomach loosened.

He suddenly jerked away, his jaw as hard-set and expression as stern as ever. He tossed a set of keys, which she soon recognized as her own, to one of the thugs behind her. He must have fished them out of her pocket while she'd been distracted. "Take her to the car," he ordered one. "Find where she parked her car and take it home," he said to the other, screwing a silencer onto the gun he held in his hand.

"No!" Amelia started to panic. "What are you doing?!" She felt someone grab her and jammed her elbow into his gut as hard as she could muster. The mammoth of a man responded with a grunt, but quickly picked her up like she weighed nothing and threw her over his shoulder. She screamed and bit him, but he didn't even flinch.

As he tossed her into the back seat of the car, she could hear a far off scream and a muffled gunshot.

Her hands were both shaking and clenching and she wanted nothing more than to pummel the man beside her into the ground. She tried to open the car door, but as she suspected, the child safety locks were on to prevent her from running off. She punched and kicked at the window, but only received bloody knuckles and a stubbed toe.

When she finally spotted James, he strode to the car with a sickening confidence that she'd only seen from him years ago when he would successfully pursue women. He saw this as a game. He killed people, and it was all a _game_.

She couldn't even look at him. When he slid in beside her in the back seat she turned her gaze to the window. She felt tears rolling down her cheeks. She hadn't even realized that she'd been crying. She brushed them away with the back of her hand and hoped he hadn't noticed.

"What's wrong? What are you even doing out of bed?" He reached toward her but she flinched away until she was pressed firmly against the far door. His hand was smeared with blood that wasn't his own.

He frowned. "This is what I do, you know that. You've always known that. You can't expect me to not do my job whenever you're on your period."

When she didn't answer, he continued, growing more agitated by the second. "What do you want me to do, let people sell us out to the cops? I'm not about to go the way of Falcone. We have those Justice League pricks so far up our ass it's hard to breathe, I'm not going to let that little shit get past me just because he has a _family_. Especially not after he saw_ you_. Can you imagine? I'm not going to risk that. Never."

Was that supposed to be his version of comfort? Was she supposed to feel endeared that he would murder people on her behalf? She glanced over at him and didn't even bother to hide the disgust she felt. She hid it over the years, but now that the end was in sight it all came crashing down on her in waves. It was almost overwhelming. She hated him. She hated everything about him, from his over-confidence and twisted sense of morals to the way he parted his stupid, meticulously-arranged hair. She gave him a long, hard look that finally rendered him speechless until she asked quietly, "What kind of a fucking moron wears a navy tie with a black suit?"

He reacted like she'd slapped him. He glanced down at his hands and tried to wipe the blood off onto his pants. When it didn't work he got frustrated spat on them until he was able to wipe all the blood away. "The kind of moron who gets dressed in the dark, trying not to wake you," he murmured, more to himself than to her.

After what felt like forever, they arrived at James' apartment. He let her out of the car and she shoved her fists in her pocket. "Give me my keys," she muttered to the ground.

He looked sad. She'd seen plenty of his anger, but she'd never really seen him _sad_. He kept opening his mouth like he was going to say something, then faltered at the last second and remained silent. This happened two, three times until his mouth set in a firm line and in a sudden movement he grabbed her arm. "No," he said, dragging her to the elevator. "We're not going to play this game."

In all her time of knowing him, James had never touched her in any way that hurt. He would go the extra mile to make sure she was comfortable. He would stop anyone who even thought of hurting her. But now his grip around her was painful. His fingers bit into her skin so tightly she knew that she would have bruises. She dug her heels into the ground, but the concrete provided no traction.

All of her training with Selina had been about avoiding being captured, not what to do after.

"You're hurting me," she hissed as she dug her fingernails into his arm.

He slammed her against the elevator wall just hard enough to hurt and pressed the door close button. "You know, I don't really care. I have never been anything but good to you and I'm not about to let you leave convinced that I'm some sort of monster."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but you're not exactly acting like a gentleman."

He shot her a glare so cold she felt rooted to the ground. "I'll do anything I have to in order to keep my family safe. Right now that means taking care of my father's trash while he's under surveillance. I told you what was going on from day one and you haven't had a problem with it until now. Why?"

With his hand tight around her wrist and her back pressed so hard against the wall, she felt small. "You said you were getting rid of the bad guys, not torturing innocent men."

James rolled his eyes. "He was hardly innocent."

"You looked like you were enjoying it."

He broke her gaze and let her go, crossing his arms across his chest. He pinched between his eyes. "Have I ever given you any reason to think I enjoy hurting other people?"

The elevator door opened and she knew she should probably just press the door close button and ride it back down, but she found herself following him into his apartment anyway. In fact, she chased him in. "Yeah, but I don't think you'd _remember _any of them," she challenged.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think? You drink a lot. You hurt people. It's what you do. I spend a lot of my time cleaning up after your messes when we go out."

He tossed his keys down on the coffee table and walked into his bedroom, sitting on the end of the bed. He didn't look surprised. He shrugged, looking up at her as if to ask, _What do you want me to do about it?_

The hatred boiled in her chest again and she wanted to make him feel very, very sorry for what he had done. And luckily she knew exactly how to do that. "You know, for someone who claims to hate his father so much, you act an awful lot like him."

"I'm not _that _bad."

"I've seen you nearly kill people over looking at you wrong and it wasn't so long ago that you almost bashed my skull in just because you were stressed." She stood over him and watched the subtle changes in expression as her words sunk in. First denial, then disbelief, then utter despair. He looked lost. "You're pretty bad. At least your father knows he's a bastard."

He didn't respond. His shoulders slumped and he buried his face in his hands.

She couldn't stop there. "And to boot, you blame him for _everything. _You're like the damn poster child for daddy issues. Daddy this, daddy that." She ranted with animated arm gestures, pacing from one side of the room to the next. "You can only blame genetics for so long. Your upbringing was bad, sure, but you can't use that as a cop out for everything. Take some ownership of your life. Your grandfather likes to kill people, but that doesn't make you a monster. No, you did that all on your own."

He peered at her through his fingers. He looked confused. "Grandfather?"

Amelia froze. She'd been thinking about how she'd manipulated every person she'd ever been close to. She chased Charfield away without a second thought and had cut Dick out of her life entirely without batting an eyelash. She tricked James into believing that she loved him without so much as feeling a hint of guilt. Worst of all, she'd killed people, and not just indirectly. Before Selina had found out and stopped her, she'd purposefully hunted people like her own grandfather with the intent of killing them and watching them die. Without realizing it, she'd been thinking of Charles the whole time. Her thoughts were absorbed with him. She was turning into him. And she had the nerve to believe that helping the Justice League put a few criminals behind bars could make up for all that. At least James killed for survival.

A lump rose in her throat, and gagged. She fled to the bathroom, locking the door behind her, with just enough time to make it to the toilet before she vomited the entire contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl. Hot tears ran down her cheeks and her entire body shook.

Eventually she heard a knock at the door. "Amelia?" James asked softly.

She didn't answer. Instead, she flushed the toilet.

"I…I want you to know that I…" he stopped. He couldn't finish. He never could.

She sniffed and wiped her nose on the arm of his stupid sweatshirt. She swallowed. "Go fuck yourself," she spat.

He didn't try to say anything more, and soon she felt herself falling back asleep on top of the white, fuzzy bathroom mat.

* * *

Amelia was woken again at another unearthly hour, this time by her own phone. Her work phone. Her brain still fuzzy, she glanced at the clock on the screen. It was six in the morning. Why would Lex call her at six in the morning?

More importantly, why was he awake?

When she sat up and felt her head pounding she grumbled some remarks about type A-for-awful personalities, then answered the phone in a low voice, "Hello?"

"Good morning, darling. I trust you've slept well?"

He sounded awfully chipper. She thought back to earlier that morning with dismay. "Impeccably."

"Good, good. Now, love, I have something to confess. Because, see, I haven't been entirely honest with you."

Her brain was not functioning at the same level as his was. She was still having trouble wrapping her mind around the words he was saying. She wished he would just spell it out. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I know you're a liar. I know you're a mole. I know that you tell every last teeny-tiny itty-bitty detail to that good friend of yours, the Batman. In fact, I've known for quite some time."

Amelia's heart skipped a beat and she felt like she might be sick again. He'd probably been feeding her misinformation for months, which was probably yet another reason for Bruce's anger.

"Oh, come now. That shouldn't come as such a shock. You know I have little birds everywhere. Oh, and you didn't think I'd be dumb enough to download that silly little virus onto my _own _computer network, do you? I'm almost insulted."

"W-what? What do you want?" She rubbed her throbbing forehead with her palm. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because _you're_ going to help me, of course."

"Help you with what?"

"I'm going to have those crates, even if I have to fish them off the bottom of the ocean myself. Seeing as I'd rather not waste time and risk damaging the contents, I'm going to give you a choice. You can run for your life while I'm distracted, run far away like I know you want to. Or you can save your friends' lives."

"I don't have friends, I think I'm going to need you to clarify."

"There are three crates. I have three missiles. I trust that math is easy enough, even for you. If I don't get those crates the easy way I'll blow the ships sky high when your little friends try to stop me from obtaining them. So unless you feel like seeing the cold corpses of your little super friends on the evening news, you know what to do."


	12. Chapter 12

How had Bruce put it, exactly? Amelia tried to remember. The sun was just coming up over the horizon. Her tired eyes squinted against the morning sun. The sea spray invaded her mouth, and she thought she might be seasick. Her stomach churned with the rise and fall of the small boat, skipping toward the large ship off in the distance.

_All outside communications are dead. They must already be on the ship._

Word choice. Bruce seemed to have a very poor one. Or, perhaps, she was simply superstitious. When she'd pointed it out to him, he'd brushed it off without a second thought.

He seemed a lot more pleasant now that he was convinced she was actually on their side. He hadn't apologized, but he hadn't been rude either. She considered it progress.

Second thoughts floated through her mind. She'd called Bruce when she was already on the plane. She should have called him immediately and let the Justice League sort it all out. Pass along the information. Let those who were more capable handle the problem.

She obviously had never learned her lesson about running into situations headlong without thinking them through first. The first time she'd done that she'd been shot. There must be something wrong with her brain function. No one in their right mind would be doing any of this. She obviously wasn't very high on the evolutionary scale as compared to the rest of the human race.

Nope. She was going to drag Dick Grayson and his little friends off of that ship herself, kicking and screaming if she had to. For once she and Bruce were on the same page.

As she neared closer to the ship her heart sank. She could just barely make out some sort of aircraft on the deck. She could see little specks in the distance moving about, probably fighting.

When she finally arrived, she managed to find a ladder that would lead to the deck. However, once she reached the top—which was hard enough to do considering its colossal size—she soon found herself beaten over the head with what appeared to be a large, thick pole. Her head hit metal and she saw stars, tasting blood in her mouth. She glanced up: Robin. What was his name? Tom? No, she pushed herself up onto the deck with a grunt. Tim. He must have recognized her. She vaguely remembered that she may have kicked him in the face once in a desperate get-away. He was probably still bitter.

"Hey, kid," she called as she raised her hands in surrender. "I'm here to help."

The world spun and she fell to the floor as he swept her feet out from underneath her. He laughed. It sounded eerily like Richard. "You didn't think I was going to fall for that again, did you? You said that last time." Sounded just as cocky as him, too.

Amelia jumped up and took refuge behind the nearest metal container she could find, anything to get away. "Yeah, except this time I mean it. Seriously." She was out of breath. He leapt over her cover and punched at her. She rolled away at the last second.

If he would just stop trying to attack her, she might actually be able to save his life.

"Ask Dick!" she yelled, shielding her face with her hands.

"What?" he faltered. "How do you know that?" He took a moment to catch his breath. He was covered in a thick coating of sweat. Then his face contorted in rage. He grabbed her by the front of her suit. Before she knew what was happening, he had picked her up and slammed her against the nearest wall. It was like he was trying to give her a concussion. "How do you know that?" he roared again.

Amelia must have touched a nerve. There was no getting through to him. Before, he had just been trying to arrest her. Now he wanted to beat her into the ground in the hopes that the concussion would induce some sort of amnesia that would force her to forget Nightwing's secret identity.

The loyalty was touching, really. She felt like she might vomit. Her doctor was going to kill her.

She swung her knees up and kicked him square in the middle of the chest. He fell back for long enough time for her to snatch his wrist and slam _him _face-first against hard metal.

Amelia reminded herself that she shouldn't feel so smug about physically harming a high-schooler, but it felt so damn rewarding.

She pulled her gun from its halter on her thigh and pressed it to the back of his skull. She wouldn't even consider actually shooting him, but she couldn't help but wonder if the bullet would ricochet and hit her at this angle. She adjusted accordingly.

"Listen you little shit," she growled in his ear as he stopped squirming. "There are missiles headed straight toward this ship as we speak and if you don't abort this mission right away we're all going up in flames. Now call Dick and whoever else you have on board so we can get the hell out of here."

Amelia didn't remember what happened next, except that when she came to she felt like she'd been hit by a bus. Above her, Dick dug his knee into the small of her back with all his weight. His fist was in her hair, pressing her cheek against the dirty floor. Tears stung her eyes. He was screaming at her, but she couldn't hear him over the ringing in her ears. Around them, Lex's men were finishing up hooking one of the containers to the aircraft without any struggle.

She saw Tim yell something over Dick's shoulder, and immediately the weight was lifted off of her. The world spun and she found herself standing upright as Dick lifted her from the ground. He didn't say anything, he was busy pressing his fingers into the sorest parts of her body: her ribs, back, arms, shoulders, face. He was checking for breaks in the bone.

She swatted him away. "Stop groping me, Grayson."

Dick frowned. His eyes flickered down to her ribs. Apparently he had found something.

She would have to take care of that later. "No means no."

"Are you otherwise alright?"

Amelia wiped some blood off her lip with the back of her hand. "Yeah, I just—" she stopped and closed her eyes for a moment to focus. Her words were slurring. Instead of speaking, she simply gave a thumbs up.

Tim appeared beside Dick. "Luthor is targeting the ship with missiles. If we don't let him take the container he'll blow the ship."

"Do the others know?" Dick asked.

Amelia nodded. "The Flash was able to get in touch with the Martian, and Blue Beetle accidentally left his communicator on while undercover."

"I've been trying to find you guys forever." A red-haired girl Amelia didn't recognize rounded the corner of the large stack of containers they were hiding behind. "Luthor's men are almost done taking the crate. We've been able to hide the crew, but what gives?" She looked over Amelia's battered form. "Who's she?"

"_She's _Amelia VanAlstyne."

As Tim pulled her over and told her what was going on, Dick grabbed her wrist and ordered, "You have a lot of explaining to do."

Amelia shook her head. "Later. Is there any way you can see if Luthor sent the missiles our way?" She wasn't sure if she could trust Lex to keep his word. "Isn't your watch a computer or something?"

He looked for a moment like he was contemplating arguing the term _watch_, but proceeded to start typing quickly onto a holographic keypad. "Do you remember anything about the missiles?"

She shrugged. "They're Russian?"

The sigh he let out only could have been one of exasperation. "What _type_ of missile are they?" He was really good at making her feel stupid.

"I don't speak Russian."

Apparently he could make do, and continued typing. Tim and the red-haired girl joined them a few minutes later, and eventually a holographic image of a missile appeared on the screen.

Dick frowned. "There's a missile set to collide with the ship. By my calculations, we have approximately three minutes."

The image zoomed out and she could see a holographic image of the missile approaching the ship. As if she needed a visual. Her head reeled.

The red-head looked worried. "There's no way we can evacuate the ship in time."

"Can you stop it?" Tim asked.

"No, not from…" he trailed off with a troubled expression.

Amelia was too busy thinking about the fact that she'd never even _thought _of evacuating the crew that she didn't notice Dick's change in expression. "Stay here," he ordered before darting out toward the aircraft.

Her stomach sank. "What's he doing?"

The redhead looked worried. "I don't know."

There were around ten guys, and Amelia watched as Dick fought his way past all of them. He was efficient and deliberate with his moments, almost graceful. One attack would lead right into another. It didn't even look like he was trying. She wished she could do half the things he was capable of. She almost had difficulty believing he wasn't superhumanin any way. The way he moved, it almost looked like he was flying. How had he learned to do that?

Within moments he had disappeared inside the craft.

Tim glanced at his watch. "One minute."

Amelia wondered why they weren't headed toward the boat. They couldn't save the crew, but couldn't they save themselves? What was wrong with them? She glanced back and forth from their faces to the ladder where she could easily get down before the missile collided. It would be a close call, but she could make it.

They didn't budge, though. They just stared at the door. Leaving didn't even occur to them. They didn't even think about it. They were stone-faced, their breathing even. They were robots. And here she was, sweating with eyes darting around like some sort of caged animal. In her head she counted down the seconds, her heart thrumming a wild beat in her chest.

When the minute passed and they were still alive, she let out a sigh of relief. Grayson had done it.

There was a moment of silence when they waited for him to come back into sight. Then, soon enough, there he was. She saw Tim's shoulders relax. The girl let out a sigh of relief. They were smiling.

Amelia's eyes were trained on one of the stirring men on the ground. She recognized him, she'd worked with him once before she requested that Lex never make her do it again. He was seven feet of wild, unpredictable psycho. And he was waking up.

Watching it was like watching a movie in slow motion. Amelia shouted a warning. There was a loud _bang_. Dick stumbled back against the door. His eyes darted over to where they were hiding, in the direction of her scream. He wanted her to stay put.

The man stood and kicked Dick back inside, who no longer even had the strength to stand and crumpled on the floor.

Her two companions were just about to rush to go to his aid when Amelia grabbed them. "Are you crazy?" she asked. Her heart hadn't slowed and she could feel the adrenaline rushing through her veins. At least her head didn't hurt anymore. "That plane is packed with guys even the Light can't keep a leash on. They'll kill you."

Tim looked torn between what he knew he should do and what he wanted to do. His eyes darted back and forth between the plane and Amelia's face. "We can't just leave him."

He had a point.

"I know." She swallowed. "Give me your communicator."

He did, and she immediately leapt over the containers and rushed to the craft. She ignored all her instincts that told her she should be running in the opposite direction, _away _from the people that wanted to kill her. It was seconds away from taking off when she banged on the door Dick had been dragged through moments earlier.

The big guy opened the door, and Amelia found herself praying that Lex hadn't put a hit out on her yet. Hopefully word wouldn't travel that fast. It was a gamble, really. She gulped and couldn't help but imagine the ease with which he could pick her up by the neck with one hand and toss her over the edge of the ship.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. It was hard to hear him over the roar of the engine.

The hair that had come out of its bun in her fight with Tim blew all over her face. She brushed it aside and kept her posture as tall as possible. She tried to keep her voice as steady as possible. "Lex sent me to make sure _you _don't fuck up again."

The man rolled his eyes at let her inside. He must have been in his thirties, and from the looks of it he hadn't shaved in a few days. His face was covered with scars, and his hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. She'd never learned his name, he'd never really provided that sort of information. When she'd complained about him to Lex she'd simply referred to him as "ponytail-man". He'd come with her to Russia once on a mission, and his recklessness had caused her to get captured and interrogated briefly by the KGB. She pushed those thoughts from her mind. She tried not to think about it.

She'd needed to see a therapist for months afterward and he wasn't even the least bit apologetic.

There were about ten guys of equal size, and two girls all strapped into their seats. When the pilot accelerated she wobbled a bit and held onto the wall.

Dick was slumped over in the corner bleeding with his hands tied. From the looks of it, he'd been shot in the side. If he was lucky, it would be a graze. She walked over to him slowly and nudged his limp leg with her foot. "This a Leaguer?"

"Yeah," Ponytail said with a shrug. "The nerd said he broke in and messed around with the computers and shit. Don't know what he did exactly, but from the looks of it we won't be seeing any fireworks tonight." He glanced out the window to confirm that they would not, in fact, be seeing the ship blow up.

She wondered if they were even out of the blast radius.

Amelia groaned. "Are you some kind of fucking moron?" She bent down and applied pressure to the wound. Dick looked up at her weakly and she wanted to give him some form of vocal reassurance, to tell him that everything would be fine. But she couldn't, not only because she couldn't say anything, but because she wasn't sure. His blood made her gloves shine. "We're gonna have the entire League on our tail out looking for him."

"I just figured we could give him to Lex, let him sort it out."

"Lord, were you born dumb? The Justice League is going to come after him." Amelia searched Dick for his communication devices. She found every type of hardware she could and laid them out on the floor. "In case you didn't know, we just stole from the Justice League. They're gonna wanna know where we're taking their cargo. With our load, we _can't be followed_." She stomped on each one of Dick's pieces of equipment, feeling guilty with each crunch. She saved the holographic computer for last, crushing it under her heel with a grimace.

If these guys had any reason to believe that she wasn't on their side, they'd both be dead. She reminded herself of that fact when she opened the door to throw the electronics out into the ocean. If they didn't trust her, they wouldn't survive the plane ride to wherever it was they were going.

With that bit of fuss over, she fell silent and tended to Richard's injuries in the corner while the rest of the group gloated over their success.

From the look of it, he'd just been grazed. That was good because hopefully then no organs were in danger, but he was losing a lot of blood. She ripped up her undershirt and wrapped it tightly around his abdomen. It would have to be good enough for now. She wanted to reach up and touch his hair, but with all eyes on her, that wasn't even an option. His mouth was in a hard-set line. His jaw was clenched. He was sweating and paler than usual. He was in pain, a lot of pain.

She ignored him and sat down in the seat beside Ponytail, who placed his hand on her thigh and whispered in her ear, "You, uh, sweet on him, girl?"

The low, cruel tone of his voice sent chills down her spine. She hummed in annoyance. "No. If he dies, it means all-out war with the League. Lex will kill us." She swatted his hand off of her and began polishing her gun with a rag she had tucked into the back of her belt. She laughed. "You know better than most, I don't have trouble watching men die."

"Trouble?" he roared with laughter, which caused everyone to look over with mild curiosity. "I was on clean-up crew for this girl for months," he explained, pointing his thumb in her direction. "It was absolute carnage. Kept all the poor bastard's names in this little black book. All typed up and bound in fancy leather, locked even. Sick shit, real Belle Reve material."

Amelia could feel Dick's eyes burning into her, but she ignored them. Her stomach sank, which in combination with her rapid pulse made her lightheaded. She had hoped he'd never find out about that. That was a long time ago, she'd changed.

"The kid doesn't fit my MO." She shrugged and glanced back over at Ponytail with a sly smile. She placed a hand on the inside of his thigh like he'd done to her, and bent over to whisper in his ear. Her lips brushed against the cartilage, then her teeth. He sucked in a sharp intake of breath. His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. She scraped her nails up his leg, dangerously close to the apex of his thighs. When she spoke, her voice dropped an octave. "You do, though."

He froze and went stone cold. She could see him picturing the absolute _carnage _in his mind.

She could have heard a pin drop. For the rest of the ride no one said anything, but they stared at her like they were afraid she was going to start cutting people to ribbons. She was surprised that she was able to inspire such fear in men twice her size. For a moment, it was obvious why she was the one Luthor trusted with all his dirty work.

Luckily they didn't know any better.

When they landed, Amelia glanced outside the window. There were too many people to try to get past while carrying Dick, but if she could sneak away long enough for Tim to lock onto a location the place could be crawling with League members in less than an hour.

Ponytail left first, carrying Dick over his shoulder. With a grimace, she saw the wrap she had created grow darker with blood as his wound reopened. Luckily he had passed out while they were still in the air, so at least he wasn't in pain.

Amelia was the last to exit the craft besides the pilot, who was still inside. They were outside of what appeared to be a large, silver office building, but was most definitely a front for something else. She was surprised at how little there was. They were practically in the middle of what looked like a desert, with nothing else in sight. The dry air irritated her parched throat. The building was surrounded by a barbed wire fence, and around the entrance was a gate covered by an armed guard.

Everyone had already entered the building. She glanced up and saw two security cameras trained on her. If Lex was as on top of things as she thought he was, she only had a few minutes before all the assassins she had just spent an hour with on the plane would come bursting out to find her.

It was overkill, really. They gave her too much credit. About five assassins would do the trick.

She hadn't had any time to think before she'd rushed onto the plane, and when she was on the plane she'd been too focused on maintaining her persona to think of a plan.

An hour. She had to survive an hour.

In one fluid motion, she attached the silencer onto her gun and shot out the security cameras. At least they couldn't see her now.

She was in a desert. There wasn't any cover in a desert. Anything she did would have to be rash, quick, and very unlike anything she had ever been taught to do before.

The pilot had finally exited the plane. He was a scrawny kid about her height. She would've bet that he'd been bullied in school, which was how Lex got his claws into him. He liked to prey on the weak. He'd welcome them with arms wide open. It wasn't until after that he started asking for favors.

It was like the scenario about the frog in boiling water. If you drop a frog in boiling water, it'll just hop out. You need to slowly let the water increase in temperature. Then, the frog will let you boil him alive.

Poor kid. She felt bad for what she was about to do to him.

She pointed her gun at his head. "Get the fuck back in the plane, and maybe I won't blow your fucking head off."

All the color drained from his face as she took him back inside. He raised his hands up above his head like she was a cop. They were shaking.

She took him into the bathroom. "Give me your keys," she ordered.

He reached his hand into his pocket and handed them to her. It was a small room. With such proximity, she was surprised that he didn't try anything. Then she remembered Ponytail's story, which he'd probably overheard. He was afraid of her. He already had a pretty bad cut on his forehead, probably from when Dick had first broken into the aircraft to use its computer systems to hack the missiles. He needed a vacation.

"Take off your clothes."

He frowned and looked confused.

"Just do it."

Once he was in his underwear, Amelia pulled on his uniform over her suit. It was a little tight around her hips and chest, but it fit. She tucked her hair into the cap, hoping it would make her look more like a boy.

She locked him into the bathroom and jammed the door shut with a crowbar.

Amelia ducked under the plane and headed toward the gate. It was a good two, three hundred meters away. She peeked inside the guardhouse window. There was only one guard inside, with his legs crossed up on top of the desk. Apparently people didn't pass through very often, he was on Facebook.

She slipped through the door and greeted him with a smile and a gun pointed at his chest.

In the radio, she could hear a woman say, "We have a break-in. One woman, wearing all black. Identity unknown. Last seen outside the hangar. Have you seen her?"

The guard glanced at the radio.

"Tell them no," Amelia said quietly, taking cover underneath the desk where no passerby would catch sight of her.

He nodded. "No," he said shakily into the radio. He gulped. "I'll let you know if anything changes."

"Thanks."

Everything fell silent, except for the ding of the occasional message that would come upon his computer screen. She heard him swallow again.

She looked him over. He was a young guy, brown-haired. He reminded her a little of Charfield. The emblem on his uniform caught her eye. It was shining, like he'd just polished it that morning. He was either anal or new here.

This time she gulped. _VanAlstyne Technologies_.

Keeping her gun trained on him, she peeked outside the window. In large, red letters, the outside of the building read: _VanAlstyne Tech._

_You've got to be shitting me. _That's what she got for doing business with Luthor. She was about to get framed for everything. If she lived, her lawyers were going to shoot her. The press would love that.

Her phone chimed. She'd received a message from Lex.

Inside there was a photograph of Nightwing, tied to a chair in a plastic-covered room and looking more bloodied up than he had been before. His eyes were starting to look bruised.

The caption read: _Tick tock._

Her jaw dropped, she gasped.

They had far less than an hour.


	13. Chapter 13

Amelia's head spun as she tried to determine a plan of action. Her hands were shaking. She took a deep breath to steady them before the guard got any ideas. She was absolutely terrified about what Lex was going to do to her friend, and how much worse those things would get for every minute she didn't turn herself in.

In her head, she saw broken fingers. She saw blood. She imagined every sort of torture she could ever think of, all within a matter of seconds.

Turning herself in wasn't an option. She tried to calm the panic in her mind and remind herself of that fact. It wouldn't do anyone any good. Think logically.

Her thoughts ran faster than she could keep track as she tried to come up with a plan.

She pulled the communicator out from inside her pocket and skimmed the contacts. She found one that looked promising: Batgirl. The bird-bunch weren't very creative; this had to be the girl Tim was with. Who else would run around dressed so stupidly? No, she was definitely one of Bruce's group of misfits.

She typed out the message: _No time, come now. Can you send the schematics of the air-vents at VanAlstyne Tech? _The building had no windows, there had to be air vents somewhere.

Her stomach clenched. She forwarded them the photograph Lex had sent her. _Can you identify all the rooms with these dimensions on the blueprints and label them?_

Finally, she pulled out her own phone and called Felix.

He answered on the first ring. "Hello?"

She didn't want to talk long, in case their communications were somehow being monitored. "Send a car to VanAlstyne Technologies headquarters immediately, with a change of clothes. Be sure that it arrives within the next ten minutes." She hung up.

The guard eyed the gun carefully, but said nothing.

"What's your name, kid?"

He stared at her, probably wondering what she was getting at. She really had no motive; she was just trying to keep her mind off of what was going inside the building. She needed to distract herself to keep herself from running in there and doing something stupid. And to stop the pictures of them torturing Dick from flooding her mind. Her knee bounced nervously out of its own accord.

"Leon," he eventually answered.

"So, Leon," she asked, "how long have you been working here?"

He swallowed. "This is my first day."

Amelia couldn't help but laugh. "That sucks."

"Yeah, it kinda does." His hands were shaking in his lap, which he wrung in order to hide the fact that he was probably scared out of his mind.

"Listen, I don't want to shoot you. Believe it or not, I'm the good guy."

Leon frowned. "Coming from the guy on the other side of the gun, you don't seem so good to me."

"Hey," Amelia snapped. "Since you're new, I'll warn you that you should probably do your best to entertain the one threatening your life."

He fell silent.

She sighed. "I didn't say stop talking."

Leon shrugged. "Um, why are you dressed weird?"

"Next question."

"What's your favorite color?"

He was so boring. Amelia groaned. She could probably do long division in her head and carry on a conversation with him at the same time. "How'd you get a job here?"

He bit his lip. He answered with some hesitation, "It was the farthest away from home I could get."

She frowned. She found herself empathizing with him in a way she knew she shouldn't, especially considering that she very well may end up having to shoot him later.

"Is this your first job?"

"Yes."

"What do you want to do with your life, Leon?"

"I used to want to be a cop, but now I kind of just want to survive until tomorrow morning."

His answer made her laugh. "You and me both."

When a black car with a driver eventually pulled up to the gate, Amelia stood. "This is my ride." She paused. "Go home, kid," she told him, then hit him over the head with her gun just hard enough to make him pass out.

Amelia snuck into the back of the car and changed into the outfit in the back: a blue collared shirt, a black blazer, and black slacks. All loose enough to cover her suit.

Felix was a god.

She changed her hair and put it in as much order as she could, then struggled to wipe her face clean with hand sanitizer given to her by the driver. It stung her eyes and burned a scrape on her forehead, but at least she didn't look dirty anymore. At least now she looked halfway presentable.

In her palm, the communicator chimed: _ETA 5 minutes._

Amelia approached the building, forcing herself to take deep, calming breaths as she did so.

She was startled as a man in a suit burst out from the building. She didn't know what she expected, an execution squad? He looked out of breath. He was probably panicking because of the security breach, it was strange that no one had warned her about that yet. Then again, she doubted they would. It would only look bad on their part, and she did own the company. She tried not to let her thoughts dwell on the fact that her weapons manufacturing lab was currently packed full of people who would take joy in killing her if they knew who she was.

"Miss VanAlstyne!" he greeted with a grimace. "What a wonderful surprise."

"Yes." She regarded him coldly. He clearly didn't think her visit was w_onderful_. She inspected her surroundings carefully. "I was in the area and I decided to visit. I'm looking to downsize."

The portly man rubbed the sweating, bald spot on the top of his head. With the pressure of losing his job, he wouldn't be giving her any trouble. "I'd be happy to give you a tour."

"I'd like to visit the restroom first, I'm feeling unwell. It was a long flight."

"Of course, ma'am."

He led her to the bathroom. The second he shut the door, she stripped off all the clothes and left them hanging in the bathroom stall. She placed the mask on her face and made sure it was on securely.

She checked the communicator and tried to memorize the route Batgirl had mapped out for her.

_Meet me at the roof in 10, _she wrote.

Amelia stood on the toilet and pulled herself into the vents, skeptical that they would even hold her weight. They did, but it was loud when she moved. She took off her shoes, which made it a little better.

Keeping her eyes on the communicator, she slowly crept through the building and made it through to the first possible room.

She peered through the slits in the panel, but saw nothing. She heard nothing.

Time for the next one.

This happened three more times. Each time she would approach the panel her heart would race. She would tell herself _this is it. _But it wasn't.

Until she heard Mercy's voice. She strained her eyes to make out her form between the slits in the vent. She spoke into a phone by her ear, "He's unconscious again, Sir. Would you like me to go find some water to wake him up?"

"Yes, Mercy," Luthor's voice said from the phone. "Then let him rest for a little while. We'll return him soon enough."

They planned on returning him?

Amelia frowned—of course they did. Even if the Justice League knew that Luthor had been the one behind this whole plot based on what she'd told Bruce, there was no evidence behind it. All the evidence lead to her: VanAlstyne Shipping, VanAlstyne Technologies, VanAlstyne everything. If he returned the man _he _had taken hostage to the Justice League, he'd be a hero in the eyes of the media, even if everyone knew otherwise. He really was a dirty bastard.

Once Mercy left, Amelia removed the slotted panel and set it aside. Using a grappling hook Bruce had provided for her, she dropped down into the room as quietly as possible.

She looked around for security cameras, but unsurprisingly, there were none.

She rushed over to Dick and untied him as quickly as possible. She slapped his cheek with light little taps. "Dick? Please, you need to wake up. I can't carry you."

He didn't budge.

"Please wake up," she pleaded, the panic making her knees quake. Mercy would be back any second now and she didn't want to be on the other end of the cyborg's wrath. She'd kill her without a second thought.

Finally, he stirred and she let out a breath of relief. "Hey boy wonder, you look like a damsel in distress who could use a little saving," she teased.

He grunted. "Only if you promise to take me out for drinks after."

With some degree of difficulty, Amelia hoisted him up and out of the chair. There was no way they could make it through the vents up to the roof like she'd planned, especially not with Mercy's hearing. They'd be too loud and she'd simply shoot them straight out of the ceiling.

She took another look at the blueprints. There was an emergency stairwell across the hall that led up to the roof, but that would mean running through a well-lit, well-surveillanced corridor. They'd have people after them in seconds, and Amelia didn't know if she could outrun them carrying Dick.

But still, it was their best and only option.

Gritting her teeth, Amelia burst through the door. They barreled straight into Mercy, who was luckily both surprised and carrying a large bucket of water. She fell onto the floor.

Amelia rushed into the stairwell and used a fire extinguisher to jam the door, which would hopefully keep Mercy preoccupied for the seconds extra she needed to get Dick up the stairs.

He was doing pretty well, and she needed to carry him a lot less than she expected. Still, they were moving slowly. They were only on the third floor out of five.

Below them, the cyborg burst through the door. The skin on her arm folded back to reveal a machine gun—something which Amelia hoped she would never see in her lifetime.

If they lived, Dick owed her one monster of a favor.

Mercy chased them up the stairs, moving twice as fast as they were. Amelia pressed Dick against the wall and away from the spray of bullets that were whizzing past her ears. When they finally reached the roof, the only thing they had time left to do was duck behind a large air conditioning unit and hope for the best.

There was a red ship headed their way, she hoped it was Justice League owned or they'd both be dead.

Bullets shot by her head. Amelia rushed to return fire before the cyborg could get any closer, but the bullets didn't even seem to faze her. Instead, her arm started shifting again. This time, it was larger.

And flames came out.

"Watch out!" It was Dick that pulled her away from the unit before it exploded, grabbing her roughly by the arm and pulling her along at a running pace toward the red ship, which the cyborg turned her attention to when it started shooting at her.

"It won't keep her preoccupied for long," Dick told her as a rope ladder swung down from the ship. He was holding his side, and blood was oozing out over his fingers. "You go first."

"Shut the fuck up and climb," she swore breathlessly, she was almost certain her eyebrows were singed off from the explosion. She could feel an uncomfortable hot sensation on her back, she was probably burned, but not too badly.

Amelia followed him up onto the ladder just as the door to the roof burst open and twelve other assassins poured out of it.

_Perfect, _she thought, _the more the merrier._

The ship started to climb into the air to get her out of reach of the bullets. They shot at her endlessly. She climbed as fast as she could, but the ladder was long.

Below her, Mercy shot flames at her once she was out of reach of the bullets.

The bottom of the rope caught flame, and it started burning the ladder away beneath her. She knew she would never reach the top in time. She looked up, luckily Dick was in the process of pulling himself into the craft.

She dropped the rope and shot the grappling hook up to catch into part of the ship's landing gear. For a second she was falling, then she was swinging wildly back-and-forth through the air.

Amelia held on for dear life. Her muscles were shaking with shock, she was pretty sure she was burned all over her back, and her concussion was finally setting in with a vengeance.

When all this was over, she was going to take a long vacation.

Her arms burned and her fingers locked in a death grip around the hook's handle. She could see Mercy shoot some sort of blades in her direction out of her arm. She felt it like it was in slow motion: the metal burned a path in her skin in a straight line all the way from the base of her back, up to her opposite shoulder.

For a second, she was sure she didn't have the strength to hold on. She couldn't feel her fingers. Her muscles seized up and for a second she was certain she'd gone blind because she couldn't see worth a damn. Below her, a group of people waited like a pack of angry dogs at mealtime.

She hurt _so much_. She looked up at everyone watching her in the ship. They seemed so far away.

In her head, she could see Selina. She'd be angry, of course, furious that she even got herself into this situation. She heard Selina tell her like she did every time she made Amelia climb up the rope, "If you drop now, it'll be a hell of a lot worse for you down here."

She'd never been so correct in her life.

Amelia took a deep breath and tried to collect herself. "Take me over there," she called, pointing to the far side of the building with her bare foot. If memory served correct, and if her sense of direction wasn't too fuzzy, there was a ventilation shaft that should be right above the bathroom.

Dick didn't look happy about it, but knew better than to say anything. Amelia VanAlstyne had entered that bathroom, Amelia VanAlstyne had to exit that bathroom. If she didn't, the whole world would know who she was and what she did with her ample spare time.

Unfortunately, that also meant spending some time in a building filled with people who wanted nothing more than to kill her.

Luckily they could fly faster than the pack could run, so when Amelia's feet hit the ground she was still out of their shooting range.

Her sweaty palms provided her no traction and she half jumped, half fell down the shaft and into the ventilation system with a loud _bang _that echoed throughout the entire building.

She crawled her way on her hands and knees over to where she was sure the bathroom had to be. She didn't have the strength to do it quietly.

When she arrived at the correct location, she breathed a sigh of relief.

She was going to be okay.

She was going to make it through this.

Just a few more steps longer.

Just as she dropped down into the bathroom, she could hear others fall into the shaft system just as she had. One of them was too heavy and dropped straight through into the ground below, and she could hear the metal give way under their weight.

They spread out in all directions. Thankfully, it was too dark for them to see the trail of blood leading them to her direction.

Amelia's heart pounded as she shrugged the shirt on hurriedly and pulled the trousers up over her sticky legs. The blood soaked through the back of the shirt completely as soon as it touched her.

When her shoulders hunched to put the blazer on, she could feel the skin tear. She cried out briefly, but bit her finger to keep herself from screaming. Quiet, she needed to remain quiet.

She tasted like salt, her eyes watered.

She took a quick glance in the mirror. She looked like hell. She washed her face off with water, but it did little to hide her deathly pale face and the fact that her entire body was covered in sweat.

There was a knock at the door. "Are you alright, ma'am? You've been in there for ten minutes."

"Yes," Amelia called, trying her best not to sound strangled. She emerged from the bathroom feeling nauseous. The room spun. "I must have had some bad fish. My apologies, sir, but I'll have to be visiting another day. Thank you for your time."

She ran out to the car because she was certain that she would pass out before she reached it otherwise. Behind her, she could feel the bathroom door slam open as someone pursued her through it.

She didn't have to tell the driver, who stomped on the gas as soon as she entered the car. She hadn't even had time to shut the door, instead it slammed shut on its own accord when he rounded a tight corner.

In a haze, she vomited all over the leather seats just before she lost consciousness altogether.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: warning: angst

* * *

When Amelia woke up days later, she certainly hadn't expected to wake up in Wayne Manor. She also hadn't expected to wake up with _Bruce _watching over her. She certainly hadn't expected him to thank her as much as he did, either. It certainly was a surprising morning.

The only thing she had expected was pain, which was surprisingly non-existent. Apparently that was more of a testament to the strength of her painkillers than to her innate healing ability.

She would have loved to stay in bed, but that just wasn't possible. She had a life to live, and appearances to uphold. She already had a worried boyfriend who had called her no less than fifteen times while she was unconscious.

Truthfully, she was surprised that James wanted to see her. She was sure he would have found out about the spying while she was unconscious, so she had no idea what to expect from him. A bullet in the brain, maybe? The image of the beaten man with bloody fingers came to mind.

He'd agreed to see her at a café across from his apartment. It was almost an ironic meeting spot, considering that it was the place they'd actually b_egun _their relationship.

When it was warm out, the café would have seats and tables set up outside. Amelia had agreed to meet James just to talk a few times prior, and that day was just the same as all the rest of them. She had to force herself out of the house every morning in the beginning, dreading meeting with him, but knowing that she had to in order to gain Selina's trust.

However, she had to admit that she found him far less unpleasant than she'd expected. Oh, he infuriated her. He was extremely attentive, perhaps more than anyone else she'd ever talked to. He would call her out when she lied, or when she was being stubborn and self-absorbed. He would tell her, every single time. He would get her so angry every time she saw him. Absolutely furious. But she would try to keep it in; she was supposed to be pretending to like him.

The fact that he was actually able to make her feel _anything _was what had surprised her at first. She'd felt so numb for so long that she didn't exactly know what to make of it. She found herself craving his attention, not because of the anger, but because of the occasional happiness or rare laughter he would bring out of her.

She never quite understood what he saw in her. From what she'd gathered, in the beginning he'd simply seen her as some sort of conquest. He wanted to sleep with the incorruptible. It never worked out for him that way, though. She'd known what he was doing, and she'd let him know she wasn't fooled.

After that, she had no idea. He'd push her away one second, then latch on the next. For weeks he was a rollercoaster of emotions and she had no idea when it would end. At least, until that day at the café.

He was early that day, and had bought a paper while he was waiting for her to arrive. Somewhere in the middle of their talking, it had started to downpour. It had been sunny and cloudless up to that point, so neither of them was in possession of an umbrella.

James had instinctively covered her head with the paper and ushered her toward an awning while everyone around them scrambled for cover. Thunder boomed overhead, and lightning struck close by. A typical Summer storm.

Amelia didn't know what had made her do it. It could have been anything; the heat from his gaze keeping her rooted in place, the warmth of his chest pressed against her body in the crowded shelter. She pulled him close and kissed him, and it had been electric. She still remembered the way her hair had stood on end and the way her skin tingled everywhere his fingertips touched. It was intoxicating, and not just because he had slipped alcohol into his coffee just to make it through a conversation with her. She never wanted to stop.

She startled herself out of the memory to find that she was running her fingers along her lips. She shook her head, desperately trying to clear her mind.

She didn't know what it was about him, but he just _knew _her. He knew everything about her, even things she didn't notice. He knew her habits, her quirks, and _lord_ had he picked up on every single one of her faults. She always felt so exposed to him, like she was constantly standing naked in front of him while he himself was fully clothed. She couldn't read him in the least. He knew absolutely everything there was to know about her, and she knew next to nothing about him. He was a closed book.

James Moretti: the only man who had seen every inch of her soul and hadn't run. That probably said something. The only man who could stand to be around her was a sadistic killer. Maybe she wasn't so different than Charles, after all. She felt sick.

Amelia was torn from her thoughts when she saw him sitting at the table in the corner alone. Her nose was still numb from the cold air outside. He looked stoic and sipped his coffee slowly. There was a cup across from him that he'd ordered for her ahead of time. He looked like he'd been sitting there a long time, staring off into space. There was no paper beside him. His shirt was wrinkled and he hadn't shaved in a while. The stubble on his cheeks was starting to turn into a sandy-colored beard.

When he hugged her, she found herself putting far more into it than he did. Almost like if she held him tighter she could make him forget. She rested her cheek against his neck and breathed in the scent of his cologne. The contours of her body aligned perfectly with his.

Surprisingly, he smelled neither of alcohol nor smoke.

She quickly found herself torn away as he sat down abruptly. Behind him, she could see the news. She hadn't been conscious in days, so she'd had no idea what to expect. G. Gordon Godfrey was on screen, ranting about the Justice League, as usual. He yelled about how they couldn't even take care of themselves anymore, and asked how they were expected to take care of them. He yelled about tax dollars being put to waste for an outdated system. He shouted more, but she didn't listen because suddenly _she _was on the screen. In the black suit and mask, of course. She was dragging Nightwing up to the ship.

She didn't know how they'd gotten the footage, someone had to have hacked one of the security cameras on the roof or something.

Then her heart sank. She saw James watching her, he knew that she was absorbed in the television. If it was on the news now, it had probably been all over the news a few days ago.

There was no doubt about it. She'd been busted.

He swallowed and chewed on his bottom lip as she could see him mulling over what to say to her. His grip on the handle of his mug tightened until his knuckles turned white. "I don't know what to say to you, Amelia," he said slowly, "except that I really, _really _wish I didn't give a damn about whether you're okay or not."

He looked pained. Amelia was stunned into silence. She couldn't look at him, but she couldn't bear to look at her image on the television screen, either. She stared at her hands, which she wrung in her lap like a cowardly child ready for a scolding.

She knew she never should have tricked him like she did. She'd convinced him over and over that she'd been in love with him for _two years._ She'd put his entire family at risk so that she could train with Selina: him, his mother, even his sister and her two children. If Selina had amassed enough evidence to put James' father away, they all could have been killed.

"You're not going to say anything, are you? Don't you want to tell me _why _Luthor put a hit out on you?"

She could feel his eyes burning into the top of her head, but she couldn't bring herself to look. She didn't want to see his face. In her periphery she saw him lean forward. He was challenging her to look at him, but he knew she wouldn't do it. She couldn't. Her eyes burned, but she swallowed the lump in her throat. She wasn't going to cry. She wouldn't let herself.

Without warning, James burst up out of his chair with enough force to knock it over. She flinched. He slammed his hands down on the table. "I loved you!" he screamed, causing everyone to fall silent and look away.

Amelia jumped and her pulse raced. He had accomplished his mission to get her to look at him, something which she instantly regretted. Tears streamed silently down his face. She watched as one made it down the slope of his cheek and fell onto the table.

"I _loved _you," he repeated, "you _stupid_ fucking girl. There, I said it! Are you happy? Are you happy now?"

He was still shouting. She had hoped that meeting in public would prevent him from making a scene—obviously she was mistaken. They had the attention of everyone in the café. She glanced around at everyone staring at them and sunk lower in her seat.

"James," she begged quietly, "please."

"Fuck you. I trusted you, and you ruined me. I trusted you like I have never—" he stopped and looked around. He was breathing heavily. He had obviously had days to fume and plan his speech, but he couldn't get it out. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his hands trembling with rage.

He fixed her to her seat with a piercing glare. "I'm going to make you regret ever knowing me," he promised quietly before turning on his heel and leaving.

Around her, people in the coffee shop clapped.

Even they hated her. And to be honest, she kind of did too.

* * *

Amelia was relieved that Dick was accepting visitors. She found herself sitting beside him on the hospital bed, still shaken from James' screaming. His voice resonated in her head.

She smiled. "I'm glad you're feeling better," she said, "but don't you think you could take some time off work?" He had been typing away on his laptop all morning, according to Barbara, who she'd met on the way out.

Dick sighed and shut the laptop, tossing it on the chair beside the bed. "And don't you think _you _should take some time off to recover?"

"I have all the time in the world to recover, I'm retired."

"Really?" he asked with a grin, "Right when even _Godfrey _is calling you a hero?"

"I'm no hero." Amelia's face fell. "If you call me that again I'll punch you."

"You did well, you deserve some praise."

"I deserve nothing. And you really ought to think more about yourself, you know," she scolded. She crossed her arms across her chest and found herself frowning despite her efforts to be pleasant. "I'm afraid for you, Grayson. You don't have an ounce of self-preservation. You're becoming just like _him _and that scares me. And I'm not the only one, your friends aren't happy either."

She must have looked more upset than she thought, because Dick frowned and pulled her into her arms. He stroked her hair with the arm that wasn't attached to an IV. She latched onto him, allowing herself to forget that they were in a hospital room. For a moment, she forgot about everything except for him.

"Say something," she ordered.

"I have people I need to take care of, Amelia," he said with a sigh. "I can't think of myself when I have people who depend on me to protect them."

"Damn those people," Amelia muttered into his chest. "I don't care about the rest of the world. What have they ever done for you? When you're out there, you throw yourself into danger headlong without even thinking."

He looked insulted. "I would never do that."

"That's not what it looks like. It looks like you want to die."

"I don't."

"I don't know if I believe you. Did you honestly have a plan when you jumped onto that plane? You would have died if I hadn't come along."

He refused to answer.

They were quiet for a while and just listened to the hum of the machines. Eventually, Dick asked, "What happened in those two years? With Lex? With everything else?"

He was asking about what Ponytail had said about her, about the fact that she'd killed people.

This day was just out to ruin her. Her stomach sank. "It's exactly like he said," she started at a whisper, playing with the fibers of his shirt between her fingers. "I got bad, I was messed up. I thought that if I could stop people like my grandfather, who did all these terrible things and got away with them, then I could gain control over my life again. I killed them and, to be honest, it felt good. For a while, at least."

Amelia paused. He hadn't said anything yet, but his muscles tense around her and she felt like she was trapped in a cage. He was uncomfortable. He had to be. They all lived by a code; they didn't kill people. That was rule number one, and she had broken it. Some hero she was.

He just sat there and stared down at her, letting her word sink in. One of her curls, which he had been absentmindedly playing with, dropped from his fingers. It was a lot to take in, sure, but hadn't he ever had lapses in judgment? She had trouble believing he had never caused anyone's death, even if had been unintentional. Not in his business. His hands weren't totally clean, either.

She sat up, feeling like she needed to defend herself against his silence. "I don't feel sorry for killing them," she said. "I don't feel sorry for removing those monsters from the world, but I don't like what it did to me. It almost killed me. That's why I arranged my deal with Bruce. I wanted to help you because you're way better at being good than I am. I'm sorry if that makes you uncomfortable."

After a few moments, Dick covered her hands in his and stopped their incessant wringing. "For what it's worth, I think you're pretty good at being good, too."

Relief washed over her and hugged him again. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Besides, if you really want to thank me, that offer for drinks still stands."

"You'd take time away from your duties for _that_?" Amelia asked skeptically.

"For _you_," he laughed, "yeah, I think I can manage."

It had been a long time since she had ever felt so… content. She sighed. "You know it's New Year's eve, right?"

"Really? I thought it was Labor Day, on account of all the sun."

It was snowing. "I'm glad you're feeling better, because I'm going to punch you. What are your resolutions?"

He shrugged. "I don't have any. I never stick to them."

"Not even one?"

"Well," he frowned. "I guess… I'm just hoping for a quiet year."

* * *

A/N: I know my timeline is a little off on account of moving Dick's age up and all, but this is where Season 2 would come in. Sorry, Dick, but I have a feeling your New Year's resolution won't be coming true.


	15. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

_JULY 6th- VANALSTYNE MANOR_

Grayson was late.

Grayson was never late.

Amelia frowned as she glanced down at her watch. They had been meeting weekly every Sunday for months for their morning run at precisely six o'clock at the end of her driveway. Then she would cook breakfast, usually pancakes. She'd even gone out and gotten the mix just for him the night before. She'd never been in a grocery store before in her life, the least he could do is show up on time. She'd made a laughingstock of herself.

In her defense, how was she supposed to know what _generic _meant?

She remembered her lunch with Babs the day before and she felt guilty for even worrying about the pancakes. Dick's best friend had died. He probably wouldn't even show up at all. She found herself wondering if she should have gone to his apartment to check up on him when she heard a car driving up the driveway.

It was six thirty-seven.

Dick emerged, giving her his usual care-free smile. He probably wasn't going to talk about it. "Hey beautiful, sorry I'm late. Traffic was killer."

Amelia smiled back. If he wanted to pretend he wasn't hurting, she'd do her best to help. Put on a brave face. Pretend nothing was wrong. "About time, I was beginning to think you'd grown bored with me."

She started running and he quickly fell into step behind her.

"Bored, with you? I don't think that's possible."

"I'm glad you think so." Amelia gave him an obvious once-over. "I think I'd miss that cute butt of yours."

His face instantly turned red and he faltered, falling a few steps behind, causing Amelia to burst into a laughter that made her lungs burn. "I…" he stammered as he tried to catch up, "Um… well, there's not really anything I can say to that."

Once Amelia had stopped laughing and caught her breath, she teased, "Babs said you were easily flustered. I didn't really believe her, I always thought you were too suave for that. Good to know you have a weakness, Grayson."

Dick let out a sigh and frowned. "Have I ever mentioned how much it worries me that you two are friends now?"

"A couple times," she admitted. "I wouldn't really call us _friends_, though. We don't have too much in common and she thinks I have a disturbing lack of moral fiber."

"So what do you talk about? You go out all the time."

"You, mostly," Amelia said as she ran ahead of him with a sudden burst of speed, leaving him behind in the dust.

They ran around the gardens and past the lake. It took them around forty-five minutes. They had just gotten out to the horse stables when Dick fell behind and stopped running altogether. He leaned down and rested his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

Amelia stopped and rubbed the sweat off her brow. Some dripped down into her eye and it stung.

"Tired already?"

"I can't do this anymore."

Normally she was struggling to keep up with him. Today it was the other way around. Amelia frowned. "Are you feeling alright?"

He shook his head.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I want to kill them," he puffed quietly to the ground.

"Oh, Dick," Amelia rushed up to him and placed a hand on his back. She hurt for him. He collapsed onto his knees and she pulled him close. He rested his forehead on her shoulder and gripped her shirt with trembling hands.

Amelia had never seen him upset before. Truthfully, she was a bit afraid. There was no telling what he would do, and he _could _do practically anything he wanted. She just hoped he wouldn't do anything he would regret.

"I've never been so angry before," he said. "I hate them. I want to kill them but I know I can't."

She knew the feeling all too well, but she really couldn't think of anything to say. She knew all too well what it was like to lose someone you love. She'd lost Charfield. And, not too long ago, she'd lost Selina. Even Bruce couldn't find her. Amelia had no idea what had happened to her or if she was even alive. All she knew was that Bruce suspected Lex had killed her. After all, Catwoman had been the one to introduce her to him.

Amelia wished it hadn't taken her so long to realize how much she'd loved Selina. The woman drove her crazy, but she'd done far more for her than her own mother ever had.

She stroked his hair. Anger boiled in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to tell him to go kill them, it's what she would have wanted to do. It's the least the Reach deserved after what they'd done to him, to everyone.

She knew she couldn't say that, though. _She_ may be able to rationalize killing someone that had wronged her, but Dick was different. He was kinder than she was at heart, and the guilt afterward would break him. She needed to be for him what Selina had once been for her. She never thought consoling someone could be so hard. She felt like she was lying. "I know you're angry," she murmured. "But I promise it won't feel like this forever."

He shook his head, but the trembling stopped. He took a deep breath. "He was my best friend, and he died thinking I hated him."

"No he didn't. Wally West was your best friend and he knew damn well that you loved him no matter how angry you were at each other, so don't try to undermine your friendship like that. He could never hate you and you know it." Amelia hesitated as the words poured out of her mouth. She should be more sympathetic. She racked her mind for something else to say. "Is there anything you need?"

Before he could respond, sirens started blaring in the direction of the manor. Amelia's head jerked in that direction, but she couldn't see anything. They were too far away.

Beside her, Dick stood. She glanced up at his face, only to find that he looked just as relaxed as he had before. His mask was up again. She began to wonder if he had always been this way, or if this is what being in the Justice League did to someone. Did she even know the real Dick Grayson, or just someone he was pretending to be?

"We should go," he said as he grabbed her hand, hoisting her up to her feet.

"I'm sure it's no big deal," she called as he raced ahead of her. "Someone probably just burned something in the kitchen." Her knees were starting to hurt, she was having difficulty keeping up.

She started to slow down, but he snatched her wrist and pulled her along. She felt like she was falling and tripping over her own feet, he was pulling her so fast. She didn't know why he was doing this, she'd told him it was nothing. What did he think he was going to accomplish? Or was he just running into danger again, dragging her along with him?

As they got closer to the house her legs gave out. "Dick, stop!" she shouted over the sirens, but it was too late. She tumbled onto the ground and rolled a few feet, banging her nose on the ground. Tears sprang to her eyes. The kicked up dust around them billowed and made her cough.

Above her, Dick froze. He wasn't even looking at her. She could have a broken nose and he didn't seem to give a shit.

_What an asshole._

But when she followed his gaze, she was stunned too. Over the tops of the trees were huge clouds of black smoke.

This time it was Amelia who took the lead. The west wing of the house looked structurally sound from the outside, but smoke poured out of the windows and off the roof. The fire had already been put out, but they were still spraying water on it.

One of the firemen approached her, but before he could say anything, she demanded, "What happened?"

"We don't know, ma'am, but once we get the okay we'll start a thorough investigation. Until then, I'm going to need you to step back for your own safety."

Investigation?

There were things in the west wing that no investigator could ever get their hands on. Her black suit, for instance.

He was already pushing her backwards, but she ducked around him and ran toward the house. When he caught her by the arm and yelled at her to stop, she whirled around and punched him. She grabbed his hair in her fist and slammed his forehead down to meet her knee.

He stumbled, probably close to unconsciousness, and finally let her go.

Behind her she could hear Dick apologizing profusely, but then his following footsteps. She climbed up the stairs and into the west wing of the house, down the long hallway. She made sure to watch where she was stepping, avoiding all the singed portions of the floor. The last thing she needed was to fall through the floor. The ballroom was below them and it would be a long drop. The smoke made her cough and she covered her mouth and nose with the crook of her elbow.

She followed the worst of the damage into the gallery. The paintings were all destroyed, and all the glass cases holding the old, ornate jewelry had been shattered. All the display cases had been broken except one in the center of the room, which was miraculously unharmed. It didn't have an ounce of ash on it.

Dick followed closely behind her as she approached the case. What was inside? She stepped carefully on the blackened floorboards, testing her weight on each one. One could occasionally give way a little more than she expected and send her pulse skyrocketing.

She held her breath as she peered inside. Her jaw dropped and she let out a gasp.

Folded neatly inside the case was Catwoman's costume, a perfectly coiled bullwhip placed on top.


End file.
